Brave New Girl
by Sidewalk Doctor
Summary: Sick of all the makeover!Hermione fics? Well, too bad, 'cause here's another one. But this one is going to be a little different. Come on, you know you wanna check it out.
1. A Sticky Sitch

This fic is pure brain vomit due to incredible boredom at 1am and being deadly sick of all the makeover!Hermione fics. So I decided to pen one myself and have a little fun with it. I'm throwing all the clichés into this one: pureblood!Hermione, makeover!Hermione, and D/Hr pairing. Oh, and there's a Sue, too!

This one's going to be a bit different from your standard makeover fic, but I'm attempting to keep this fic _somewhat_ canonically sound and in character (seeing as makeover fics kind of require character assassination). The Sue is, IMO, the embodiment of traits possessed by the standard makeover!Hermione (except I just couldn't do the purple streaks, man. That's asking too much). Here we go!

**A/N:** Completely AU after OotP. It's seventh year. But what happened to sixth year, you ask? Don't ask me; I'm a Suethor.

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**Brave New Girl**

(After all, what Suefic would be complete without being named after a Britney song?)

**Chapter One**  
_A Sticky Sitch_

Stayley Smith was in trouble.

Well, that was nothing new. She was often in trouble. She supposed it was part of the reason she was in this sitch to begin with. But until now, she'd usually been able to worm her way out of it.

What does this have to do with Harry Potter, you ask? Stayley was the newest and soon-to-be-ex-Hogwarts student. Yup, a dreaded American transfer. She'd been yanked out of Wentworth Academy, a school of witchcraft and wizardry in Orange County, California and sent to this gawdawful place. Even hot guys with British accents couldn't save it.

Although they did help.

It hadn't taken Stayley long to gain fame—or notoriety, one might say—at her new school. From the moment she arrived, gossip flew through the halls faster than an owl on crack. "I hear she got kicked out of that American school," the girls whispered. "Really, why?" "They say she was dealing drugs." "I heard that she was pregnant and had to get it aborted, so her father sent her away to cover up." "No way! I heard she was having an affair with the headmaster." "Duh! How do you think she got pregnant?" "Ewww, isn't he like… old?"

Sadly, Stayley's exile at Hogwarts had nothing to do with dealing drugs or banging the headmaster, who, considering his resemblance to Anthony Stewart Head, really wouldn't be such a bad thing. No, Stayley was sent to Hogwarts for a dual purpose. Her father, a Very Important Person in the American branch of the Ministry of Magic, had had it with her shenanigans. She'd dated her way through all the sons of Very Important People in the Ministry and left a trail of broken hearts behind her, cut class frequently, and at one point told the deputy headmistress just where she could shove her broomstick. Wentworth let her stay because of who her father was, but he knew that Hogwarts wouldn't be so kind.

"This is your last chance, Stayley," Mr. Smith warned. "I'm sending you overseas with hopes you'll clean up your act. But I'm also entrusting you with a mission. Consider it your last chance to redeem yourself."

Her mission, should she choose to accept it (did she have a choice?) was to get close to the Boy Who Lived (not that she'd mind; she'd seen his picture, and other than the geeky glasses he was quite the salty goodness). She was to find out everything she could about him and report back to her father.

"Don't disappoint me, Stayley," Mr. Smith said. "I'm counting on you."

Unfortunately, everything seemed to conspire against Stayley's mission from the moment she arrived. First, she'd been sorted into Slytherin, and everyone knew Harry Potter would want nothing to do with a Slytherin girl. Second of all, Stayley just couldn't seem mend her wicked ways. Within a semester of arriving at Hogwarts she'd been busted for smoking on campus (hey, at least she'd gone outside!), showing up drunk for double potions and turning her partner's skin purple (fortunately, Madame Pomfrey was able to mend it, although the unfortunate girl still continued to nurse an insatiable craving for grape soda), numerous uniform violations, making an obscene hand gesture at Filch, and sneaking into the boys' dormitories. Speaking of which, she'd pretty much eliminated all chances of getting close to Potter by developing a… well, she wouldn't say _relationship_… did continuous hooking up really make a relationship? Well, she'd developed a _rapport_ with Potter's worst enemy, Draco Malfoy.

Well, who could blame her? He was freakin' _hot._ And rich. And as for his skills? One word: stamina.

She wasn't talking about quidditch, either.

Unfortunately, Stayley's luck had run out when she got caught spiking the punch at the Halloween feast (it was worth it, though; Luna Lovegood was even more hilarious drunk). Dumbledore did not expel her, but he did ask her politely to leave the school at the end of the term.

Great. This was a record, even for her. Tossed out of Hogwarts and she hadn't even been there a semester. Her Dad was going to _kill_ her.

At this point, there was only one way to fulfill her mission. There was no possibility of getting into Harry Potter's good graces (or his pants, at least) before the end of the term. Well, the latter she probably could manage, if he wasn't so damned _chivalrous._ Maybe he was gay. Ugh. There had to be a better way.

And that way happened to be walking down the hall toward her.

Hermione Granger. A hopeless goody-goody, Harry's onetime-rumored girlfriend and supposed BFF. _God, if that's what he goes for, no wonder I don't stand a chance,_ Stayley reflected, wrinkling her perfect upturned nose. Granger had frizzy mousy-brown hair, skin pale as the driven snow (yeah, it was Scotland, but hello! Tanning beds!), hideous teeth, and eyebrows gravely in need of a good wax. Stayley supposed there was some pretty hiding under that geeky exterior, but it was hidden well. She probably wore cotton underwear and had no clue what a push-up bra was. This was sad.

But she was, at the moment, Stayley's only hope.

_Dad, I am so making the ultimate sacrifice for you_, Stayley thought. _You better freaking appreciate it._

"Oh, my God, Hermione, that is such a cute bracelet!" Stayley drawled when the other girl approached her. "Can I see?"

It was the ugliest effing bracelet Stayley had ever seen.

"Umm, sure…" Hermione looked puzzled. After all, Stayley Smith had never acknowledged her presence before now, except to copy off her arithmancy quiz.

"Coolness!" Stayley grabbed her hand and pretended to examine the bracelet. "Do you mind if I borrow this? I'll totally give it back, of course. But it goes so well with my new outfit."

"Our school has uniforms."

"Hogsmeade weekend, duh!" Stayley reminded her.

"Oh. Ummm… OK…." Hermione said, unsure what she had just agreed to.

"Excellent! You're like, the coolest and stuff. We should totally hang out sometime." Stayley unclasped the bracelet and pocketed it. "We could be like sisters, with totally different hair!"

"Umm… not to be rude or anything, but are you drunk again, Stayley?" Hermione asked.

"Oh, 'Mione—mind if I call you 'Mione? You're such a kidder!" Stayley giggled, slinging her Fendi tote over her shoulder. "Look, I gotta go. Herbology in five minutes. Love ya, bye!" She blew a kiss and walked off.

Hermione shook her head, heading in the other direction. The bracelet was some cheap trinket she bought on vacation last year; she didn't much care if Stayley ever returned it. But that had to be the strangest encounter she'd had in a while.

"Forget drunk; that girl is on crack," Hermione muttered, and set off for her next class.

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That night, Stayley sneaked into the potions lab to begin the spell. Going by the light of her wand, she squinted as she read the ancient textbook and followed its instructions. It was in Sumerian, which she could read passably well (hey, she might be shallow, but she wasn't stupid). She congratulated herself for managing to filch the book from her father's collection before heading to Hogwarts. She'd stolen it for the appearance-enhancing spells it contained. Using one of them, she'd gone from an A to a C in two weeks!

She was gifted when it came to charms, and had labored day and night to come up with a brand new spell—and an awesome one at that. She had the perfect plan, see.

She'd remain at Hogwarts next term, but she wouldn't be Stayley Smith anymore.

Of course, she'd considered polyjuice potion, but she didn't have the time to wait for it to brew, and she hated the stuff, anyway. Tasted awful and made her skin break out. Furthermore, it didn't solve the problem of what to do with Granger in the meantime.

This, however, did.

Stayley chanted in a low voice, holding Hermione's bracelet above the bubbling potion. With the final dramatic line of the spell, Stayley dropped the bracelet. A bright pink light exploded from the beaker, illuminating the room briefly and emitting a loud _boom_. _"Shit!" _Stayley cursed, hoping Filch hadn't heard that. She froze for a moment, but nothing else interrupted the oppressive silence of this godforsaken castle.

Great. Now Stayley had only to return Hermione's bracelet, and the second the girl put it on, the spell would work and it wouldn't be Stayley being shipped off to whatever horrific boarding school her father had in mind.

Well, it would… but not really.

_Genius,_ Stayley thought, pocketing the bracelet and grinning.

* * *

**Even more A/Ns**:

"Salty goodness" is a line from the TV series _Buffy the Vampire Slayer._

"It was the ugliest effing bracelet Stayley had ever seen" is a paraphrase of a line from the movie _Mean Girls_.

"We could be like sisters, with totally different hair!" This is a line from the TV series _Buffy the Vampire Slayer._

"'Love ya, bye!' She blew a kiss and walked off." This is also a shout-out to _Mean Girls._


	2. What the Hell?

**Chapter Two**  
_What the Hell?_

Hermione awoke the next morning feeling strangely unsettled. Something just felt _wrong_. Her room smelled different, like some kind of cloying perfume. When she opened her eyes, she was convinced she must still be dreaming. And having a very weird dream at that.

She was lying on a satin pillowcase and under a pink satin comforter. On the bedside table was a vial of perfume (guess she knew where that smell came from), a copy of _Teen Witch_, several bottles of sparkly nail polish, and a pink wand.

Who the heck used a pink wand?

Hermione sat up straight and gazed down at her hands. She saw long, graceful fingers, golden-tan skin and French-manicured nails.

These were not her hands. Unless her nails grew overnight and manicured themselves, that is. And her skin suddenly developed a tan.

She threw back the sheet to find herself gazing at a pair of long, lean, bronzed legs, clad in pink satin shortie pajamas. She didn't even _own_ any pink satin sleepwear! Instead of her usual oh-so-comfy flannel pajama top she was dressed in some kind of silky pink camisole.

And holy crap, she had _boobs._ Well, not that she didn't have boobs before, but these were definitely, erm, _more._

Reeling, she peered around the room. Another girl was curled up in the bed next to hers, her face half-hidden among the sheets. But Hermione could make out the pug-like features. _Why is Pansy Parkinson sleeping in my room?_

Crookshanks, I don't think we're in Gryffindor anymore.

Actually, Stayley's familiar was a prissy white Persian cat who was curled at the foot of the bed, gazing at Hermione with disdainful golden eyes.

Hermione dazedly climbed out of bed and made her way to the mirror across the room. Her mouth dropped open when she stared into it. Another girl's face was staring back at her. She instantly recognized the long, wavy blonde hair, catlike green eyes, upturned nose, and full, pouty lips. _Merlin, I have turned into Stayley Smith!_

Ding ding ding! 100 points for Gryffindor—erm, Slytherin, because you are one now, sweetie.

Hermione's first instinct was to run to the infirmary and fetch Madame Pomfrey. Surely she'd be able to sort this out. Nothing could be worse than having to live life as Stayley Slutbomb Smith!

Before Hermione could make her getaway, though, she realized that she couldn't exactly march into the infirmary in Stayley's sleepwear (not to mention that it was positively indecent). She'd have to change first.

In the meantime, her roommates had woken up and were in the process of getting ready for class. Hermione decided it was easier to pretend to be Stayley than to try to explain her predicament to Pansy and Millicent Bulstrode. "Hi, Pansy!" she said brightly, smiling at the pug-faced girl.

Pansy only scowled at her and brushed past.

_OK, so Pansy and Stayley don't like each other much. Got it._ Millicent apparently didn't care much for Stayley, either, because the girl just grunted a grudging "Morning," before following Pansy to the bathroom.

Biting her lip, Hermione staunchly tried to quell her rising consternation by telling herself it was only a matter of time till Madame Pomfrey got this all sorted out. She just had to get dressed and make her getaway. After heading to the bathroom to wash her face and brush her teeth, she searched through Stayley's wardrobe for her uniform. To Hermione's dismay, all of Stayley's skirts had been hemmed up several inches above regulation length. How _did_ Stayley get away with it?

Since Stayley was several inches taller than Hermione was, her skirt seemed even shorter when she pulled it on. _Great, I look like an extra from a video on that muggle station, MTV._ She sifted through Stayley's drawer only to find the girl didn't own any practical nude bras. Instead, everything in there was padded, push-up, or both, and came in outrageous patterns and colors—fuschia, turquoise, leopard-print, scarlet… there wasn't even basic white! Finally, Hermione had to settle for a pale pink. Shouldn't be _too_ visible under her white shirt.

Finally, all of Stayley's shoes had heels—most three inches or higher. She settled upon Stayley's plainest pair of black ankle boots which, unfortunately, still possessed a rather high heel.

Hermione was not used to walking on heels. She stumbled several times while gathering up Stayley's books and supplies, while Pansy sneered at her. "What's wrong, Stayley?" the other girl taunted. "Drunk again?"

"I'm getting started early today," Hermione cracked, unable to help herself. Pansy glared back, but was silent.

Hermione hightailed it out of the Slytherin girls' dorm as fast as humanly possible, intending to head straight to the infirmary. Unfortunately, she was intercepted before she left the common room.

"Stayley, dear, were you going to leave without saying good morning?"

Hermione recognized the drawl and instinctively recoiled as Draco Malfoy wrapped his arms around her waist and planted a kiss on her ear. She winced, a shiver of revulsion running through her—erm, Stayley's—body.

She turned to look up at him, and he leaned in to kiss her on the lips. Hermione reflexively flinched away, trying to back out of his embrace. He frowned. "What's up with you this morning?" he asked. His lips curled into his signature smirk upon taking in her appearance. "Ahh, I see we're playing innocent today. No cleavage for once."

_Stayley gets away with cleavage?_ was all Hermione could think. "Umm… yeah. It's a game." She tried to giggle like Stayley.

"I see." Malfoy looked like a predator about to pounce on his prey. "I imagine you'll be anything but innocent tonight."

_Excuse me while I throw up in my mouth a little,_ Hermione thought, glad she hadn't eaten breakfast. "I, um… have to go."

She hastily pulled away from him and took off, before turning around for a hasty, "Love ya. Bye!" and blowing him a kiss.

_Oh God, how does Stayley do it?_ Hermione thought, groaning inwardly. She was seriously going to be sick if she had to keep this up for more than a few more minutes.

There better be a way to fix this.

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It was all Stayley could do not to let out a scream that would wake up the entire Gryffindor dorm.

_This is a nightmare,_ she thought frantically, staring into the mirror at Hermione Granger's mousy features. What the hell? She'd been uber careful with the spell. The transformation wasn't supposed to happen until she'd handed back the bracelet. And Stayley hadn't been planning to do that till she was all but being shipped off to her next boarding school.

"_Shit!"_ she muttered, raking her hands through her—erm, Hermione's--bushy brown hair.

Despite her initial panic, however, Stayley tried to look on the bright side. As much as she had initially loathed the idea of being stuck inside of Granger's decidedly less attractive body, the idea of wreaking havoc as the mousy Gryffindor had grown on her. And she wasn't just talking about sexing up Harry Potter. She was talking about… everything.

OK, so her plan had gone slightly awry. She'd just find Granger and stop her from going to a teacher and getting her busted. She'd think of a way to shut Granger up. She only hoped Granger wouldn't do too much damage to her rep before Stayley got to her.

_Oh God… what if that frigid goody-goody finds Draco?_ Stayley blanched at the thought. Not that she wouldn't be able to do damage control later. She'd play it off as some kind of kinky game or something. He'd probably get off on it.

In the meantime, Stayley couldn't go to class in Hermione's flannel pajamas. Ugh. Did the girl _try_ to dress like a forty-year-old? It was bad enough that she'd had to wake up between less-than-300-thread-count cotton sheets. The drawer full of plain nude bras and cotton knickers (bingo! Stayley'd so called it) wasn't helping. She dug around until finally she found a black lace bra. That would have to do. She threw on one of Hermione's starched white shirts, undoing the top buttons and trying to show some cleavage. Unfortunately, Hermione wasn't exactly stacked and the bra wasn't a push-up. This was seriously no fun.

Stayley was a resourceful one, though. She managed to hunt down a blazer with shoulder pads. _This the one time I'll thank Merlin for Granger's grandma fashion sense_, Stayley reflected, hastily cutting out the shoulder pads. She then stuffed them into the bra, arranging them so her breasts were pushed up front and center. Perfect!

Stayley didn't have time to hem up any of Granger's skirts, unfortunately. The girl didn't even own any makeup, save for a single tube of pink lip gloss. However, her roommate, Lavender Brown did. Stayley asked Lavender if she could borrow some eyeliner and mascara. The other girl agreed cheerfully, although she seemed a bit bewildered that Hermione wanted to use her makeup.

Whatever. This whole house was full of losers, apparently. And jeez, could Hermione's shoes be any more boring? What self-respecting seventeen-year-old didn't own stilettos?

Stayley did manage to hunt down a pair of pumps that Hermione clearly only used for dressy occasions. _I suppose it's better than nothing,_ Stayley thought grouchily, sliding her tiny feet into them. Hermione was several inches shorter than she was, and the world looked different when one was only five four.

And didn't even own a damned pair of stilettos.

_Now, if I were goody two-totally-out-of-style-shoes_ _Granger, where would I go? _Stayley reflected. The answer was easy enough—the infirmary. Knowing the hopelessly boring Gryffindor, she probably would want to get back in her exceedingly plain body as soon as possible.

Stayley was about to leave the Gryffindor common room when Granger's dorky boyfriend, Ron Weasley, intercepted her. "Hey," he greeted her cheerfully, leaning in for a kiss.

Stayley hastily dodged away. "Hello, lip gloss!"

"Oh. Umm, OK." Ron's eyes practically bugged out of his sockets as they traveled down her figure. "Oh, wow… this is, um, a new look for you."

"Like it?" Stayley gave her best "model" twirl. Those modeling and charm courses she'd taken in the O.C. sure had come in handy!

"Oh, yes I do," Ron muttered, looking like he was about to pass out. _God, she actually has sex with this loser?_ Stayley thought. Although on second thought, Granger was probably still a virgin, if only because Weasley likely blew his load before he even got her shirt off.

"Listen, hon, I gotta take off," Stayley told him. "It's important. But I'll catch you later, K?" _Not if I can help it. _She blew him a kiss. "Love ya, bye!"

Ron was still staring after Hermione, who was swinging her hips in a decidedly uncharacteristic (but extremely sexy) manner, when Harry came over to join him. "Umm, was that _Hermione_?" he asked, frowning.

"I think so…." Ron looked dazed.

Harry concluded he must still be dreaming. _No more stale cauldron cakes before bed,_ he vowed, and shuffled off to the Great Hall.

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Hermione was about to enter the infirmary when someone grabbed her arm, halting her.

She whirled around to see… herself. Only skanky. _Whoa, when did I get boobs?_ Hermione thought, glimpsing at her doppelganger's newly-acquired cleavage. (How could she miss it? The damn things were practically staring her in the face!)

"Hermione, we have to talk." It was weird hearing her own voice. Particularly with Stayley Smith's speech patterns.

"Something has gone terribly wrong," Stayley told her gravely.

"Gee, that would fall under the category of 'duh,'" Hermione said sardonically.

"Ew, God, are you trying to frump me up?" Stayley glanced derisively at the other girl's outfit. "I do look pretty hot in these skirts though, even if I do say so myself."

"Stayley, do you want to talk about what has happened to us, or not?" Hermione demanded. "And hello, are you trying to make people mistake me for a streetwalker?"

"It's called style!" Stayley fired back. She grinned wickedly. "Your boyfriend seemed to dig it."

Hermione went bright red. "Stayley…."

"OK, OK." The other girl heaved an impatient sigh. "I was messing with a spell the other night, and clearly, it went very wrong."

"I'll say! What were you trying to do?" Hermione demanded. "Impersonate me so you could skank it up with Ron?"

"Ron? Ew, are you kidding me?" Stayley wrinkled her nose. "I was trying to skank it up with Harry, thank you very much."

"You switched places with me so you could hook up with Harry while in _my_ body?" Hermione exclaimed, realizing that Stayley wasn't just a drunk—she was a raving loony!

"No… it's more complicated than that," Stayley said impatiently. "The point is, I botched the spell, so we're stuck this way until I can figure out how to fix it."

"Haven't you done enough already?" Hermione shot back. "I'm going straight to Madame Pomfrey, before you turn us into a couple of blast-ended skrewts or something."

"Not so fast!" Stayley stepped in front of her. "You go to any of the teachers, and we are both screwed. If I go down, you're going down, too."

"How?" Hermione countered. "I'm not the one who cast this ridiculous spell."

"They don't know that," Stayley pointed out. "_Two_ of us have been affected by this. That's all they see. They'll never know what spell I used, because I made it up myself. I can tell them anything. It's your word against mine."

"And who do you think they'll believe?" Hermione challenged. "One of the school's best students or a troublemaking drunk?"

"Excuse me, but I'm a troublemaking drunk with a _very_ important father," Stayley said imperiously. "Face it. We're in this together. And unless you want your perfect record blemished with a _very_ serious infraction, you won't walk in that infirmary door."

Hermione hesitated, glaring furiously into… well, her own eyes. But somehow Stayley made them look so much more devious. And was she wearing _eyeliner?_

"You're blackmailing me!" Hermione exclaimed.

"Congrats, Captain Obvious. 10 points for Gryffindor… er, Slytherin, since you are one now," Stayley said smugly.

Hermione wanted to punch her the face, if not for the fact that it was _her_ face. She couldn't believe it—stuck impersonating Stayley Smith for Merlin only knew how long! What on earth had she done to deserve this?

"Fine. Let's go and cast the counterspell." Hermione sighed.

Stayley bit her lip, uncharacteristically hesitant. "Umm, there might be a slight problem with that."

"What problem?" Hermione demanded.

"I um, don't exactly know what it is yet."

"You cast a spell without knowing the counterspell?" Hermione's voice began to grow shrill—well, Stayley's voice, which was even worse.

"Hey, chill, I've got it all under control," Stayley fibbed. "I just need to work a few things out."

"You had better have it all under control!" Hermione exclaimed. "I'm starting to think I'd rather have a black mark on my academic record than risk living the rest of my life as you."

"Trust me, it's mutual," Stayley said bluntly. "I have as much incentive as you to figure this out. So I think right now we'd best suck it up and deal with it until I come up with something, OK?"

Hermione glared back at Stayley. Of all the _idiot_ things to do! "All right, but if you screw up my record in any way …"

"Will you relax? I'm not an idiot," Stayley informed her huffily. "I have always done well in school. As for whatever activities I indulge in while in your body, no worries. I've had enough fun as myself—something you'd do well to do."

"No, thanks. I have no intention of ho-ing it up, in your body or otherwise," Hermione assured her.

"Too bad… you could really use it," Stayley said with an arch of her eyebrow. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to catch some breakfast before morning classes. I'm no good on an empty stomach. Love ya, bye!" Stayley blew a kiss and sashayed off, leaving Hermione shaking with rage behind her.

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**A/N:** Yeah, I know there hasn't been much D/Hr yet, but these chapters were mostly devoted to setup and keeping everyone in character. Things will really get interesting in the next chapter, as Hermione continues to masquerade as Stayley and vice versa.

Stayley's opinions on the characters in no way represent mine. I love all the characters in HP. I don't imagine Stayley does, though. ;)

I know the concept seems like a bit of a stretch, but it was the best I could do to write makeover!Hermione without total character and canon rape. I hope you'll suspend your disbelief for the sake of having a bit of fun with a cliché.


	3. The Longest Day

**Chapter Three**  
_The Longest Day_

It wasn't until Hermione had to impersonate Stayley Smith that she realized how many things she just did automatically. She'd almost gone to _her_ first class instead of Stayley's! Fortunately, she'd remembered just in time, and managed to race into Professor McGonagall's transfiguration class just before the bell.

During class, Hermione raised her hand for almost every question the teacher asked, and replied with perfect textbook answers. Professor McGonagall looked pleasantly surprised. "Why, Miss Smith, you're really prepared today."

"Umm… I decided it's time to get more serious about school," Hermione fumbled, trying to be as cutesey as Stayley.

"A wise decision." The teacher shot her an approving look before going back to her lesson. _Dammit,_ Hermione thought. This was going to be harder than she thought.

She tried to tone it down in her next classes, but most teachers still noticed and remarked on how prepared Stayley was. _Way not to call attention to yourself,_ Hermione thought dismally as she headed out of her last class before lunch break. But she feared the worst was yet to come. She was going to have to sit at the Slytherin table at lunch, which was going to be ten times worse than classes!

"Stayley! What was up with you in charms, huh?" One of Stayley's Slytherin friends, whose name was Serenity Stephens, asked her as soon as she sat down. "Did you swallow the textbook or something?"

"I umm… I don't know. I guess I just had a good day," Hermione said lamely.

"I need to study with you more often," another of Stayley's friends, Eternity Edwards, joked. " You were freaking us out in there for a while… we thought you'd switched brains with that geek Hermione Granger!"

Hermione nearly choked on her pumpkin juice.

Just when she thought the moment couldn't possibly get any more awkward, Draco Malfoy strolled past the three girls, fixing Hermione with a knowing smile. After he'd passed out of earshot, both Serenity and Eternity turned to Hermione with wide eyes.

"Did you see that? He totally gave you a look!" Serenity squealed.

"It was a look," Eternity agreed.

"So what's the sitch with you two, anyway?" Serenity wanted to know. "Are you guys like… you know, together?"

"Umm… yeah, I guess," Hermione said distractedly. Her gaze was directed at Stayley, who was seated at the Gryffindor table and pretending to be her. She was the talk of the house, apparently—more than one male gaze was directed at her. Meanwhile, Stayley was giggling and flirting outrageously with Harry, much to Ron's consternation.

_Everyone's going to think I've become the school skank,_ Hermione thought with growing dread. If Stayley destroyed her relationship with Ron…

"Oh, my God, what is _up_ with Granger today?" Eternity asked, following her friend's gaze.

"I know, what a hobag!" Serenity giggled.

"Why? She's dressing exactly like us," Hermione pointed out, and the girls gave her a funny look. "I mean, umm… she's finally discovered style, I guess."

Serenity and Eternity giggled. "Ha! It'll be terribly amusing watching Miss Bookworm try to act cool," Serenity said.

"The guys are noticing her," Hermione pointed out, wondering why on earth she was defending Stayley-as-herself.

"True. I wonder how long it'll take her to upgrade from Weasley," Eternity mused.

"Hey, what are you two going to wear to Hogsmeade this weekend?" Hermione asked, eager to change the subject. She'd chosen the right one. While Eternity and Serenity launched into detailed descriptions of their outfits, Hermione wolfed down her food like there was no tomorrow. She didn't know how much longer she could stand their company.

"Hey girls, I'm going to head to the library before potions. Got some homework to catch up on. See you later!" She took off.

"Whoa… she's totally out of it today," Serenity remarked as soon as their friend disappeared out the door. "What's her deal?"

"Well, I heard Dumbledore asked her to leave the school," Eternity said in a hushed voice. "But don't tell her I told you."

"Shut up!" Serenity exclaimed, completely oblivious to her friend's hushed tones.

"Yeah, so maybe she's like, trying to get serious about school so Dumbledore changes his mind."

"Ahh… sucks to be her," Serenity said gravely. "So, you wanna go shopping for dress robes at Hogsmeade this weekend?"

"Sure!" Eternity replied brightly. "Mine aren't even last year… they're like the year _before_ last year." She shuddered, and the topic of Stayley Smith's strange behavior was momentarily forgotten.

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Hermione had forgotten that the last period of the day, double potions, was with the Gryffindors. _Oh, man, is this going to _suck she reflected miserably. Briefly she contemplated feigning sickness to get out of it. But even though she was pretending to be Stayley, she hated the idea of missing a class for no good reason. She'd just have to gut it out.

Stayley was already there when she arrived, sitting at the front of the room with Harry and Ron. Hermione sat down in the back, next to Serenity and Eternity.

"Better watch out, I hear Snape is in one of his moods today," Eternity whispered conspiratorially. "Like, total male PMS."

"Ew." Serenity made a face.

"Has the guy even heard of styling products?" Eternity asked. "He must wash his hair like, once a year."

"I hardly see Snape as _Queer Eye for the Straight Guy_ material," Hermione cracked, unable to resist.

If the other girls picked up on her snark, they didn't show it. "Oh wow… _Queer Eye_ should totally come to Hogwarts!" Eternity exclaimed. "That would rule."

"I know… when was the last time Dumbledore cut his hair?" Serenity asked.

Hermione wondered how much more time she could spend in Serenity and Eternity's presence before she suffered total brain meltdown. She had never been so glad to hear Snape's reedy voice in her life.

"Today, we're going to try something a little different," the teacher announced after calling the class to order. "I'm going to assign you a partner you don't normally work with. This is part of an effort by the school to promote more inter-house unity. Your assignments will be as follows. Longbottom and Goyle, Potter and Smith, Malfoy and Granger…."

Neville Longbottom looked terrified, and for a moment Hermione thought he was going to be sick. But her attention was soon distracted when she heard her—erm, Stayley's name. How the heck was she supposed to fool one of her dearest friends into thinking she was Stayley? Harry would see through her in an instant!

Meanwhile, Stayley viewed her assignment with relish. The idea of impersonating prim-and-proper Granger while working with Draco was just too glorious. Potions was going to be one of her most entertaining classes ever.

She sashayed over to Draco's table, trying to flip her hair over her shoulder the way she usually did. It didn't really work. Stayley wished she'd had time to charm Granger's hair or at least get a hold of some decent styling products. But if there was anything Stayley was good at, it was improvising.

"Well, looks like we're stuck with each other," she said to Draco, trying to imitate Granger's prissy tone.

"Lucky us," he muttered. He didn't up from his potions book.

Stayley sank down onto the stool next to him, crossing her legs in her best impression of innocent-seductive. She arranged her skirt to show as much skin as possible without looking too obvious. "Believe me, I'm as happy about it as you are. But I suggest we put our differences aside for now. I don't want my grade to suffer because I have to work with the likes of you."

"You'll have a better chance working with me than with Longbottom," Draco cracked. However, he wasn't looking at the hapless Gryffindor boy but at her legs. Stayley suppressed a smirk. "Goyle will be lucky if that twit doesn't make all his hair fall out."

"For Goyle, that would likely be an improvement," Stayley quipped.

Draco chuckled. "Wow, Granger made a funny. Imagine that."

"What can I say? You bring out the best in me." Stayley held her thick brown curls up off of her neck, fanning herself with her other hand. "They really turned the heat up today, didn't they? It's hella hot in here."

He frowned. "It's what?"

"I've been tutoring Stayley in arithmancy. Guess her American slang is rubbing off," Stayley hastily covered. "Mind if I borrow this?" Without waiting for his answer, she leaned across the table to grab his pen. As she did so, the front of her shirt fell down enough to offer him a glimpse of her black lace-encased cleavage. Stayley regretted having to feign Granger's ridiculous unawareness of her own body—she'd have _killed_ to see the look on his face!

"I see Stayley's slang isn't the only thing that's rubbing off," Draco drawled, his gaze traveling unabashedly over her figure. "I believe your new look might be your best effort at inter-house relations yet."

"Better than S.P.E.W.?" she asked archly, sticking the pen in her thick bun to hold it in place. "Now tell me something… for someone who thinks of me as a filthy mudblood, you sure have no qualms about checking out my breasts."

He seemed taken aback by her bluntness, but recovered quickly. "I may be many things, but I'm not blind," he told her, shrugging. "Now, as amusing as our verbal sparring match is, do you want to get started on our assignment or not?"

"Sure." Rather than looking in her own potions book, she leaned over to look at his. He gave her a funny look, but was too proud to give her the satisfaction of scooting over. "So do you want to get the ingredients," she asked airily, "or should I?"

Meanwhile, across the room, Hermione was having far less fun with her assignment. It was strange to be sitting with one of her best friends and having him treat her like a stranger—which, for him, Stayley virtually was. Hermione was surprised at how bad it made her feel that Harry couldn't tell it was really her, even though she was supposed to be acting like Stayley.

She was also a bit taken aback by how rude and surly he was being. Did they really treat all Slytherins that way? Not that Malfoy and his cohorts didn't deserve it, but before today, Harry had never really talked to Stayley. For that matter, neither had Hermione, except when the girl acted fake-nice in order to get help on her homework. All they really knew of the American transfer was her rep.

"Hmm… I think we need more eye of newt," Harry muttered, his eyes on his potions book.

"I'll get it," Hermione volunteered. When she got back, he barely acknowledged her, let alone thanked her.

This was getting ridiculous. Stayley masquerade or not, she couldn't work with him if he continued to act like such a git. "Harry, are you always like this?" she asked.

He looked up, surprised. "Like what?"

"Like…" She wracked her brain for something Stayley might say. "Like you have male PMS or something."

Harry appeared as though he didn't know whether to be insulted or to laugh at her. "I do not have male PMS."

"Well, you've barely looked at me this whole time, and your responses have tended toward monosyllabic," she pointed out. "I know we have our differences. I'm a Slytherin, I'm kind of bitchy and a little skanky, too… but we're going to have to communicate if we expect to do well on this assignment. So could we at least pretend to act civil to each other?"

Harry looked as though he thought he'd been zapped into Bizarro World or something. "Um… well, I wouldn't exactly say you're bitchy…"

"Just skanky," she quipped, unable to help herself. To her surprise, Harry actually cracked a smile at that. "I'm also not stupid, either," she went on, feeling a bit emboldened. "In fact, I think you're putting a little too much belladonna in there. All you really need is a pinch. See?" She reached into the jar, took out a small amount and dropped in the bubbling potion. It changed from a dull brown to a vibrant purple, just as it was supposed to.

Harry's eyebrows shot up. Hermione supposed he hadn't expected that airhead Stayley to have a brain—even if it wasn't exactly her brain. Although Hermione didn't underestimate Stayley's intelligence for a second. She might play the ditz well, but she wasn't in Slytherin for nothing.

The rest of potions actually got easier… Harry and Hermione were able to get through the potions assignment with no major mishaps, and were grudgingly awarded high marks by Snape. Meanwhile, Stayley continued to have a bit of fun at Draco and Hermione's expense, although the pair did get a high score on today's assignment.

Hermione was more than a little relieved when the final bell rang, and today's round of classes was over. Of course, she still had dinner to get through, but maybe if she was lucky she could escape to the library and hide out in a secluded study carrel, as not to ruin Stayley's rep by being seen there.

Meanwhile, Stayley caught up with Harry and Ron on the way out, and promptly elbowed her way between them. "Hey guys… what a class, huh?"

"I'll say," Ron agreed. "You try working with Eternity Edwards! If I hadn't been there the silly bint would've probably blown up the school."

"I know, huh?" Stayley remarked. "She once tried this charm to touch up her roots, and it turned all her hair green. It was like a week before Madame Pomfrey could fix it. Eternity made her Mom owl her a wig overnight. Except it was like, this totally horrific '70s 'do, and she looked even sillier…."

She stopped only when she noticed Ron and Harry looking at her strangely. "I, um, overheard some Slytherin girls talking about it in the loo," she explained quickly.

"I swear Snape made these pairings to torture us," Harry said resentfully. "Partnering you with Malfoy? I'm surprised you didn't end up killing him."

"Well, if I killed him, I wouldn't get a very good grade, would I?" Stayley pointed out. "Hey may be a total git, but at least he's got a brain in his head."

"Yeah, unlike Eternity," Ron muttered. "Harry and I got stuck with two thirds of the Slytherin bimbo squad."

"Actually, Stayley really isn't all that bad," Harry remarked, earning him a look of shock from Ron. "I mean, yeah, she's an alkie and a troublemaker--"

"She showed up drunk _once _for potions… that doesn't make her an alkie," Stayley broke in.

Ron rolled his eyes at her nitpicking, but Harry just said, "OK, well, she's a troublemaker. Anyway, she seemed nice enough, and she was really well-prepared. I looked in her potions book, and she'd apparently read it before class and highlighted the important parts. I didn't think anyone but you did that, Hermione."

"Ahh, well, I have been tutoring her in arithmancy… maybe she picked it up," Stayley covered.

"She was probably just making nice to keep from getting kicked out of school," said Ron cynically. "That girl has beat Fred and George on the detention scale and she's only been here half a year."

"She beat the Weasley twins? Shut up!" Stayley exclaimed.

Again, she received some odd looks. "I must've picked that up from Stayley, too," she said. "Damn California slang. Catchier than a boy band song. Listen, guys, I just remembered I have to get my notes from Neville Longbottom. Poor kid. I'm sure Madame Pomfrey will fix that hiccupping problem. Anyway, I'll meet you guys at the Great Hall. Love ya, bye!" She took off.

Ron and Harry gazed after her, utterly bewildered. "You think Malfoy finally drove her nuts?" Ron asked after a moment.

"Maybe all that studying and not enough sleep is making her loopy," Harry suggested.

"That and tutoring Stayley Smith," Ron added. "That would be enough to drive _anyone_ insane." They both agreed on that.

-------------------------------

**A/N: **Sorry for the long wait… I wrote this chapter yesterday, and somehow ended up deleting it by accident. So I had to rewrite. Grrr.

Yes, I named this chapter after a _Dawson's Creek_ episode. Hellz yeah!

I figure that the students at Hogwarts use quills, but I had to add the pen bit in potions because it was too good to pass up. Hopefully you guys will overlook this little inaccuracy for the sake of having a bit of fun.

Stayley's friends Serenity and Eternity were given classic Sue names, both of which I've encountered in real fics. If they sound more like airheaded valley girls than airheaded British girls, it's because I'm American, and I haven't spent enough time in England to really get a feel for how airheaded girls talk there. Feel free to brit-pick or correct me. I won't be offended.

During the Serenity/Eternity lunch scene, I couldn't help but do a shout-out to _Mean Girls_ again. That movie is practically made for Sue fics.


	4. The Plot Thickens

**Chapter Four**  
_The Plot Thickens_

Unfortunately, the day was far from over. Hermione had to suffer through Serenity and Eternity's company through dinner, while surreptitiously checking out Stayley's activities at the Gryffindor table. She'd been hoping for a chance to ask Stayley how the counter-spell was going, but it was impossible to get the girl alone. Furthermore, Hermione was always being followed by Serenity and Eternity—those two were harder to shake than a parasite. It was highly unlikely Stayley had worked on the counter-spell anyway—she was too busy skanking it up in Hermione's body.

To make matters worse, Hermione realized that she had no idea how to get to the Slytherin common room, or what the password was. In her haste to get out this morning, she hadn't kept track of the route. All she knew was that it was in the dungeons. At least in this case, Serenity and Eternity had their uses. Hermione tagged along with them to the Slytherin common room while the girls kept up a steady stream of chatter about the most inane topics—clothes, makeup, gossip, and wizarding pop culture. Hermione made sure to smile and nod at proper intervals, taking note of every turn they took on the way. The girls descended into the dungeons and, after navigating a labyrinthine sequence of tunnels, eventually arrived at a blank stone wall.

"Nightshade," Serenity announced, and the wall swung open.

"Isn't that like, a band or something?" Eternity asked.

Serenity shrugged. "I thought it was Night_crawler_."

Hermione tuned out their chatter as they entered the Slytherin common room. She turned down Serenity and Eternity's offer to try out some new beauty tips they'd picked up in _Teen Witch_ and figured she might as well sit in the common room and study. She yearned to be back in the Gryffindor common room, reclining on a chair with _Hogwarts: A History_ and Crookshanks curled up at her feet. Instead, she was in the Slytherin common room with Stayley's spoiled cat and no non-school reading but _Teen Witch._

Wearily, Hermione trooped across the room looking for a nice place to sit, when someone grabbed her arm and yanked her into the shadows.

She yelped, but the person pressed a pale finger to her lips to shush her. To her horror, she saw that it was Draco Malfoy who had pulled her aside, and her heartbeat rocketed into high gear. Not from attraction, but from panic. Just when she thought the day couldn't get any worse!

"Come," he said, and, grabbing her hand, led her up the stairs to the boys' dormitory. She resisted an urge to wipe her mouth.

"Umm… aren't I not allowed to be here?" she stammered, nervously following him up the stairs.

"You are if they don't catch you." Malfoy shot her a bemused look as he pulled her along behind him.

He opened the door and led her inside, making sure to hang a coat hanger on the knob before closing it. Other than the two of them, the room was empty.

Hermione couldn't hold back a growing sense of dread, particularly as Malfoy advanced upon her like a predatory animal. Instinctively, she backed up, stumbling in Stayley's shoes.

"You're really enjoying this little game, aren't you," he murmured, quickly closing the distance between them.

Hermione gulped. "I, ummm… aren't you afraid your roommates will come back?"

"The hanger's on the door."

Hermione could easily figure out what that meant. Ew. She wondered if the Gryffindor boys did that. She decided she didn't want to know. "Right."

His thin lips curled up in a smirk. "You're really getting into this innocent act, I see… can't say it's not amusing, but I'm wondering how long you plan to keep it up."

"Well, you know me. I never do anything halfway," she joked, backing up a bit more, until she felt her heels bump against his dresser.

"You certainly don't." The light in his gray eyes told her he was talking about something other than her acting ability.

_Oh, Merlin, I so have to get out of here,_ Hermione thought frantically. Malfoy was flush against her now, and she was pinned against the dresser. He leaned forward and rested his hands on the surface of the dresser, on either side of her. She swallowed nervously and realized her throat had gone dry. There had to be _some_ way to get out of this.

She wondered if shouting "Fire!" and running for her life would be too extreme, since kneeing him the groin was obviously out.

He leaned toward her, and to her horror she realized he was going to kiss her. Hermione hastily ducked out of his embrace and scrambled over by the bed.

Malfoy turned around, looking bewildered at first, but he quickly adapted. "OK," he said slowly. "If that's the way you want to play it, Stayley, we'll play."

"You know, M-Draco, we really don't have to do this tonight," Hermione stuttered. "If you're tired, I totally understand."

"Me? Tired?" He smirked. "Since when has that stopped you?"

_Oh God,_ Hermione groaned inwardly. "I, um… am feeling a bit tired myself."

"At the risk of being redundant," Malfoy replied, stepping even closer so she was now between him and the bed, "since when has that stopped you?"

_Jeez, does anything call him off? _Hermione thought, realizing that if she backed up any further she would fall onto his bed—and that was one place she _really_ didn't want to end up tonight.

He's a horny teenage boy. Nothing short of the threat of castration will call him off.

"I guess that's a good point," Hermione hedged.

"Stayley, this game has gone on long enough," Malfoy said tiredly. "I'm getting a little freaked out by how far you're taking this role. It's almost as if you're dressing and acting like a blonde version of Hermione Granger."

Hermione nearly fell onto the bed.

"I suppose if you're trying to act like a prude, she's the natural choice for a role model," Malfoy continued, "but if you think that I have any interest in discovering just what lies beneath that prim-and-proper surface…."

"I'm sure Hermione has no interest in you getting beneath that prim-and-proper surface, either," Hermione supplied quickly.

"I don't know though… I have this suspicion that Granger might be harboring some hidden naughty streak." He smirked, and Hermione marveled at how his smile could be so devoid of warmth or kindness. "For all I know, she's a real hellcat in the sack."

Hermione fervently wish she could slap him in the face, but alas, she couldn't. Although if she did he'd probably think it was some kinky game and get off on it. "Draco, are we here to talk about Granger, or about me?" she purred. "I find it bad form to talk about other girls' bedroom habits in front of your girlfriend."

His pale eyebrows shot up when she said the word "girlfriend," but he didn't say anything about it. "You're right," he acknowledged. "Now, why don't you make me forget all about her, hmm?"

_Real smart, Hermione. You made it worse._ "Umm, that's OK, really," she flubbed.

"Or maybe you'd rather I seduce you," Malfoy drawled, moving beside her and resting his hands on her shoulders. "Goes with this whole innocent act." She willed herself to remain still, as though she were being stalked by a some deadly creature from the depths of the Forbidden Forest. Don't make eye contact. Don't make sudden movements.

Hon, at this point, a sudden movement—say, a kick to strategic area--would be your only way out of this mess.

He proceeded to brush aside her hair before pressing the lightest of kisses on her neck. Hermione felt an icy-cold jolt ricochet through her body, and for a moment she thought she'd be sick. Still, she stood still as he continued to press feathery kisses across her skin while sliding his hands down her arms. Her mind worked frantically to come up with a way to get out of this without blowing her cover, but nothing was coming.

Meanwhile, his lips brushed the fluttering pulse point at her neck, alerting him that her heart was hammering wildly—although not for the reason he might think. He smiled to himself as the fingers of one hand twined with hers, and he reached up with the other to touch her cheek.

Hermione tried to stay calm while all this was going on, but she was finding it increasingly hard to concentrate. _You hate him,_ she reminded herself. _He's the most insufferable prat in school!_ And yet… his touch was deceptively tender, almost reverent, as he gently tipped her chin up. She realized she'd never given much thought to what Draco would be like in bed (perish the thought!) but for some reason… she hadn't imagined him to be this… well, gentle.

She found herself frozen to the spot as his mouth descended, unable to move away. Instead, her eyes slid closed as hips lips brushed hers in the lightest of kisses. Her stomach did a little jump, and she was starting to feel vaguely nauseous again. His lips continued to brush hers softly, sensuously, and to her horror she found herself starting to respond.

_Hello, earth to Hermione! This is your worst enemy here! _Yet she found herself turning around and being drawn into Malfoy's arms, without a bit of protest. His hands pressed lightly against the small of her back as he deepened the kiss, while her hands found their way to his lean chest before sliding up to his shoulders. She was acutely aware of the heat of his skin through his thin linen shirt. His lips gently coaxed hers apart, allowing his tongue to sweep inside and stroke temptingly against hers.

Hermione's knees almost buckled and she was glad she was gripping his shoulders. She couldn't tell if it was shock, horror, or revulsion that made her react that way, but kissing Malfoy was definitely doing something catastrophic to her. She had initially thought she might pull it off if she pretended he was Ron, but now she found that was impossible. Malfoy's kisses were _much_ different than Ron's. While Ron's kisses were sweet and fumbling, Malfoy's were smooth and effortlessly seductive. He was clearly experienced, and Hermione's—erm, Stayley's traitorous body was responding, despite her better judgment.

It was until he began to unfasten the top buttons of her blouse that Hermione came back to her senses. Breaking the kiss, she pushed away from him and backed up. Unfortunately, she had forgotten about her proximity to the bed and fell backwards onto it.

Oh, great.

"Ummm… I'm thinking maybe we should stop…" Hermione stammered.

Malfoy, undeterred, crawled onto the bed after her, and she quickly scooted back before he got too close. He did not look pleased. "Stayley… come on. I know roleplaying is all fun and good but it's possible you're taking it too far. Not even Granger is that frigid."

Hermione could only stare at him in shock and fury. She couldn't believe that only a few moments ago she'd been kissing him and had been anything but repulsed by it!

Oh, it was something other than repulsed, all right.

"And how would you know!" she exclaimed before she could stop herself. "The closest you'd ever get to that is shouting lame insults across the room."

"Which is by and large what Weasel does, and look what happened there," Malfoy pointed out. "Apparently insults are Granger's choice of foreplay."

Hermione knew she had to get the hell out of here before she blew her cover any further—like say, smacking the crap out of him. "Why are we talking about Granger?" she demanded. "It's been a running theme with you all night. I was under the impression that she and others of her… um, kind are _beneath_ you."

"They are," Malfoy said bluntly, and Hermione's hand itched to slap him. "But that doesn't mean I can't have a bit of fun at her expense. You've got your impression of her perfected, suffice to say."

"Yeah, well, why don't you insult her to her face then, and not to me?" Hermione demanded. Her cheeks felt hot and she knew she was completely overreacting, considering she was supposed to be Stayley. "And quite frankly, this game is creeping me out. If you're picturing her while kissing me… gross!"

"Stayley…." Malfoy scrambled off the bed after her, intercepting her before she reached the door. "Is that what this is about?"

_Merlin, will I never make my getaway?_ Hermione thought. "No, because frankly, I know you're gifted to have ended up with me," she said, in her haughtiest Stayley-esque tone. "It's just giving me _massive_ wiggage to think you're getting off on me pretending to be her!"

He sighed, rather impatiently. Clearly he didn't want to put up with Stayley's mood swings. "Stayley, don't be preposterous. Do you really think I would _ever_ hook up with a mudblood like Granger, even in my most twisted and depraved fantasies?"

Hermione reeled back as if she'd been slapped physically. "Well," she said huffily, "that works out nicely, since I'm sure Granger would swallow nails before having anything to do with an obnoxious Aaron Carter lookalike like you!"

She flounced out of the room, cheeks burning. How _dare_ he! She could barely hear anything over the haze of anger and self-disgust clouding her mind. Well, except for Malfoy shouting after her, "Who the hell is Aaron Carter?"

--------------------------------------------------

Draco was having the mother of all craptacular days.

Ironically, the day had started out fairly promising. Stayley had been acting a bit strange that morning, but he'd figured she'd make up for it that night. Then he'd gone to potions only to see that in a fit of sadism, Snape had decided to pair him up with Granger. Draco's only consolation was that Granger was likely to find him as insufferable as he found her.

It didn't quite work out that way.

He had wondered if the uptight Gryffindor was inhaling too many strange fumes, because she sure was acting bizarre. Most of the time, she seemed like the same prissy, wound-up know-it-all she usually was. But then there were moments when he could've sworn she was… well, trying to seduce him. First, there was the outfit. He was shocked she hadn't been busted my McGonagall, because surely there was something rule-breaking about unbuttoning her blouse so low it was practically indecent. And well… Granger wasn't all that unfortunate in the chest area.

Or the leg area, for that matter.

Draco was so disturbed by the turn of his thoughts that it continued to bother him all afternoon. He'd heard gossip about pureblood guys who went slumming with mudblood witches they had no intent of pursuing seriously. He supposed they did it because they were bored and just wanted to get their rocks off, but he personally couldn't understand it. The very thought of getting involved with a muggleborn in any way repulsed him too much to think about.

But now he wasn't so sure. He had to admit that the idea of taking Granger for a ride only to drop her unceremoniously would be the ultimate way to take her down a peg or two. Even if no one knew (after all, he had a reputation to uphold), the pure glory of being able to shoot her a knowing smirk across the room while she sat there with her blissfully ignorant friends acting all sweet and pure was just too good to pass up. Furthermore, screwing Weasley's girlfriend would bring the added benefit of knowing he'd… well, screwed Weasley's girlfriend.

Still, it wasn't the fact that he was seriously contemplating using Granger in the basest way possible that disturbed him. He actually enjoyed that.

It was the fact that he might not mind it so much.

In fact, he entertained a kind of sick fascination with what Granger must be like in the sack… particularly after today's little display.

Horrified, he'd figured a good romp with Stayley would get it out of his system. But the fact that she insisted upon playing this little game of hers only threw him even more. He wasn't against roleplaying as a way to spice up his and Stayley's sex life—not that it needed spicing up—but her freakishly spot-on impression of Granger severely wigged him out. Was she trying to torture him after today's potions class? Was she really that twisted and perverted?

Oh, you have no idea how twisted Stayley can be.

So now he was all riled up and unsatisfied, with nothing to keep him company but jumbled thoughts of Stayley and Granger.

If it were possible for him to Avera Kadavera himself, he'd have seriously considered it.

Perhaps he should save that option for later, because this little drama is only going to get even more sordid.

--------------------------------------------------

**A/N: **Well, I fear that my true colors as a D/Hr shipper are showing through here. But it was one of the clichés I chose to attack in this fic, so here I go. This is always a tough pairing to write convincingly, but this fic gave me an interesting concept to work with. I had great fun writing Hermione-playing-Stayley, and I hope I stayed reasonably true to character. I know that for non-shippers I was probably pushing it a bit, but hopefully not too far.


	5. Everything Falls Apart

**Chapter Five**  
_Everything Falls Apart_

Stayley was sitting outside during a break between her morning round of classes, taking in the weak English sun. It was all the way up in the low sixties today—they were having a heat wave! Man, did she miss SoCal right about now.

She chewed on the pen she'd stolen from Draco the other day, wishing she had a cigarette. Of course that goody-goody Granger didn't have any in her possession, nor did any of her hopelessly dull housemates. Jeez, for a house known for its rule-breaking streak, the Gryffindor girls sure were square when it came to the contraband substances.

So Stayley was seated on the wall, examining Granger's bitten-down fingernails and wondering if there was a way to charm them into growing faster, when an irate blonde marched right up to her.

_Oh, great,_ Stayley groaned inwardly, looking up to see a furious Hermione—erm, herself—glaring back at her.

"Stayley, we need to talk," Granger declared.

Stayley arched one of her alter ego's bushy eyebrows. "If you insist, but make it quick. I have another one of your ridiculously boring electives next."

"You have got to figure out a way to lift this curse. I refuse to keep up this ridiculous charade anymore!" Hermione exclaimed.

"Aww, but you look like you're having so much fun," Stayley.

"This is serious!" Hermione was growing more furious by the minute. "We can't keep this up forever. In a minute, I'm just going to say screw this and go to Madame Pomfrey. Something tells me my otherwise upstanding academic record will survive."

"Oh, I don't think so!" Stayley said quickly. "Something like this happened back at Wentworth. Well, it wasn't the same spell, but some students were caught fooling around with magic they weren't supposed to. Both were expelled." She was totally making that up, of course. But Granger had no way of knowing that.

"Dumbledore wouldn't expel me!" Hermione declared.

"True… he does put up with an awful lot from you Gryffindors," Stayley acknowledged disdainfully. "But he'd be oh so disappointed in you. Furthermore, seeing as I made the spell up myself, they'd probably have to consult me in order to reverse it. So honestly, you'd be in essentially the same boat but both your rep and academic record would be tarnished.

"Besides which, you're forgetting about me," Stayley went on. "I have a vested interest in this staying quiet. I don't have your spotless record. If Dumbledore gets wind of this, he'll toss me out in my last term."

"At the rate you're going, I think you deserve it," Hermione spat out. "So you're really not winning sympathy points with that one."

"All right, how's this?" Stayley countered. "I'm obviously a very powerful witch. I was able to make up a spell more complex than anyone else in our class has—including you. So I highly suggest you don't get on my bad side."

"Or what, you'll hex me?" Hermione shot back. "Somehow I fail to be all that worried."

"Oh, you might wanna rethink that," Stayley asserted. "See, I might get tossed out, but God only knows how much damage a spell made up by a student could do. If it goes wrong—which it might—the results could be catastrophic. A lot worse than sprouting black fur out of your face."

The color drained from Hermione's face. "How did you know about that?" she demanded.

"Hon, I live in Gryffindor now. Word gets around. I've got a lot of dirt on you. You break the rules as much as I did. The difference with me is, I don't care."

"I break the rules for the greater good," Hermione said through clenched teeth. "We're in the midst of a war here! I think breaking the rules to practice Defense Against the Dark Arts is a little more important than having a smoke or shagging your latest boyfriend."

"Hey, rules are rules, no matter how golden your intentions are," said Stayley imperiously. "We've both got something to lose should you narc on me, and I'd say the scales are tipped a bit more in my favor. That said, I'll work on a cure when I finish the obscene amount of work I have to do for your schedule this year. Man, you seriously must have no life." With that, Stayley stood up. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have some boring ass Charms seminar to attend." She strode off.

_Oh, that bitch is going down,_ Hermione thought, fuming. If Stayley was going to insist on keeping up this charade, well, it was time to quit playing nice. Stayley Smith was about to learn that Hermione Granger was not a girl to be trifled with.

--------------------------------------

Remember last night, when Draco considered Avada Kedavra-ing himself?

Well, now he _really_ wished he'd done it.

That morning, the family owl had dropped a letter on his table in the Great Hall. With a feeling of trepidation, he'd opened it to find his father's neat, elegant handwriting.

_Draco,_

_I am very displeased by what I am hearing from you—or should I say lack thereof. I entrusted you with an important mission when I first sent you to Hogwarts. You've been failing abysmally at it for the past six years. This is your last chance. Do not disappoint me again._

Father 

He'd hastily hidden the parchment before Crabbe and Goyle could bug him about it, or worse yet, Stayley. Most of the time she didn't give a rip about his personal life, but she'd been acting so weird lately, who knew.

His mood only grew worse as the morning wore on, and was positively foul by the time he finished his first round of classes. He strode through the hall looking for a way to vent his frustrations. Maybe he could find a sniveling first-year to pick on or… wait, even better.

None other than Hermione Granger was strolling down the hall towards him, clad in a skirt several inches above regulation length and partially unbuttoned blouse. He could see the vague outline of her black bra through the thin linen of her shirt. Her hair was loose and wild, windblown from having just been outside. Her legs, usually hidden by robes, were on fabulous display particularly given the fact that she was wearing heels.

An image of those legs wrapped around his waist flashed through Draco's mind for one wild moment, before he quickly shook it off.

"Well, Granger, I barely recognized you, not carrying a ton of books," he drawled, adopting his signature smirk.

"Ouch, that hurt," Hermione said, faking an injured expression. "Contrary to popular belief, Malfoy, I actually have a life outside of school."

"Yeah, I imagine you must eat and sleep," he cracked. His gaze traveled unabashedly over her body. "Although, with that scrawny figure, I don't imagine you eat very much."

"Ah, so you like a woman with meat on her bones." She strode closer to him, jabbing a slim finger into his chest. "Guess it offsets your total lack thereof."

"You seem to go for those tall, lanky types," he retorted, thinking of Weasley.

She smiled smugly, her hand still on his chest. "Touché. However, I fear that particular taste does not extend to twitchy ferrets." She gave him a slight push before turning and walking off.

Furious, Draco turned around and called after her, "This isn't over yet, Granger!"

She glanced back over her shoulder. "Somehow you don't strike me as one to race to the finish line," she quipped, her statement heavy with double meaning. Then she turned and walked away, a group of giggling onlookers sweeping between them before he could reply.

Unfortunately, this encounter only served to rile him up even more. Did she _know_? Was that why she seemed to going out of her way to get under his skin? He honestly didn't know if he wanted to slam her against the wall and shake her or slam her against the wall and have his way with her.

He decided either one would do.

However, in the absence of either option, he had no way to vent his anger, so he settled for sauntering down the hall glaring at first-years and making them scatter like roaches. Then he noticed a familiar willowy blonde making her way down the hall. Without preamble, he grabbed her and pulled her into a nearby alcove.

"Draco, what are you doing?" a bewildered Stayley demanded, but before she could respond, he shoved her against the wall and his mouth crashed down on hers.

For a moment Stayley was too startled to react. Then her hands drifted up to his biceps, her mouth going soft and pliant beneath his. The pressure of his kiss gentled somewhat as she began to respond, her manicured fingers sliding behind his head and dancing over the soft silvery-blond hairs at the nape of his neck. His hands settled on her slim waist and pulled her against him, her body pressed to his while he proceeded to kiss her senseless.

"This is crazy," she said breathlessly when he finally released her lips, brushing her hair aside to rain kisses on her neck. "What if a teacher sees us?"

"And why would you care about that?" he murmured against fluttering pulse in her neck.

"I, ummm…." She let out a shaky sigh. Jeez, Granger wasn't the only one acting strange. Normally, if he pulled Stayley into an alcove to make out with her, she'd be attacking him with equal fervor. But today she seemed almost shy… she responded to him, but there was something almost innocently sensual about her kisses.

It was driving him crazy.

"Let's get out of here." Grabbing her hand, he started to pull her out of the alcove.

"Draco, are you out of your mind?" she demanded. "Our next class starts in less than five minutes!"

"So? You think Binns would notice we're missing?" he countered. "The guy's a ghost, for Merlin's sake."

"Well, yes, but… you can't just go cutting classes in the middle of the day!" Stayley exclaimed, looking flustered. "We're nearing the end of the term. I can think of at least three tests coming up, and if we miss today's class…."

Draco was starting to seriously wonder about Stayley's behavior. "Stayley, what is up with you these days? You have never given a crap about school before… why should you start now?"

"It's our last year!" she told him, as if it should be obvious. "We can't afford to screw around anymore. We've got N.E.W.T.s next term, and I have worked too hard for six years to blow it all now."

He snorted. "Come on! You coasted in Wentworth… you yourself said you're not stupid, and have still gotten decent grades in spite of blowing off school all the time."

"Yeah, well, if I keep on that way, I just might find myself tossed from this place," she informed him. "I don't want to take that chance."

Well, Stayley had sure turned out to be a bust. "You know what? Fine," Draco said, deflated. "You go on to Binn's class… I'm out of here." He turned and sauntered off.

"Fine, go ahead and ditch class, see if I care!" Stayley called after him, huffily. "I imagine when your attendance record gets back to your father, he won't be pleased."

Draco stopped dead in his tracks. The bint sure knew the right thing to say to push his buttons! He turned around and in a flash, was right up in her face.

"Has it ever occurred to you," he said in a low, caustic tone, "That I have other cares and concerns in this world than pleasing my father?"

"Like what?" Stayley shot back, completely unafraid of him. "Name one."

"Well… you for example," he said, smugly. The answer had its desired effect, and she gave a barely-perceptible flinch. "You might be the pureblood daughter of a powerful American wizard, but you're hardly the kind of girl he'd want me mixed up with. You've left a trail of broken hearts behind among the teenage sons of American Ministry heavyweights, got yanked out of Wentworth for your party-girl ways, and were sent here as your punishment. Your rep here isn't exactly sterling, either."

Stayley, while initially shaken by his remarks, quickly regained her dignity. "Yeah, so I'm not perfect," she said bluntly. "But don't kid yourself, Malfoy. I'm a hell of a catch for you. Who else would put up with all your shit and still come back for another round? Oh wait, I suppose Parkinson would, but you're not with her. You're with me."

"Don't flatter yourself," Draco sneered, refusing to let her get to him, but her words hit closer to home than he cared to admit. "There are any number of girls who would be glad to date me."

Stayley snorted. "Please! They could care less about you. They care about the fact that you strut around here throwing your father's weight around, and you get away with it because everyone's either afraid of you or hopes some of it will rub off on them. But at the end of the day, no one really cares about you as a person. Frankly, I don't blame them."

She roughly brushed past him but he stopped her, grabbing her arm. She whirled around, her catlike green eyes shooting sparks at him.

"You're treading on thin ice, Stayley," he warned.

"Somehow I fail to be particularly worried," she responded coolly. "See, unlike all those girls you claim could replace me, I know who you are. You hate that and you crave that, don't you?"

He could only stare at her through narrowed gray eyes, at a loss for words for once. Stayley was _definitely_ acting weird. He'd never seen her so vindictive before—at least not with him—or so bloody _perceptive._ What happened to the Stayley who could care less about him, who was only in it for a good time and a good shag?

"I, however, have too much self-respect to hang around any longer," Stayley continued loftily. "Until you stop acting like such a dick all the time, we're over, Draco."

She roughly pulled her arm away and strode off down the hall, leaving him staring after her.

"We were never really anything to begin with!" he called back at her, rather lamely.

"Perhaps not, but I imagine you'll miss me when your only companion lives in your sock drawer," she quipped, drawing giggles from nearby onlookers.

Draco was sorely tempted to hex the living crap out of her, but there were too many witnesses, and he couldn't shake the feeling that something was really wrong with Stayley. She was acting so _bizarre_. Could some spell of hers have backfired and affected her mind?

Whatever the reason, the fact remained that he was in a piss-poor mood and had been spectacularly owned by both Hermione and Stayley. "Women!" he muttered, before grouchily stalking down the hall to History of Magic class.

-----------------------------------------

It seems Draco and, erm. Stayley weren't the only ones embroiled in a massive row that day. Onlookers at the Gryffindor common room were treated to yet another round of Ron/Hermione drama, but this one, at least, was the most amusing.

"What is up with you, Hermione?" Ron demanded, regarding his girlfriend with equal parts concern and irritation. "You've been acting strangely for days now."

"Gee, thanks, Ron," the brunette said acidly, glaring at him. "I decide to try something different for a change, and the first thing you do is get on my case."

"But Hermione, this isn't _you,_" Ron argued. "The clothes… the way you're acting… I mean, you've been flirting and carrying on with other guys as if you're still single! And am I going crazy or were you actually flirting with _Blaise Zabini_ yesterday?"

"So? I think he looks hot in green." She shrugged. "Jeez, Ron, it's just a bit of harmless flirting. It's not like I'm gonna marry the guy."

"But it's disrespectful!" Ron exclaimed. "I mean, even Harry is feeling uncomfortable with it."

"Oh, so now you guys are talking about me?" Hermione demanded. "Are you going to stage a skank ho Hermione intervention?"

Ron sighed. "Look, we're just concerned, that's all. This behavior is so unlike you."

She arched an eyebrow, reaching up to adjust her collar and not-so-subtly nudge her shirt further open to reveal a considerable glimpse of cleavage. "I don't see you complaining about the clothes."

Ron yanked his gaze back up from her chest to her face. As he did so, he noticed Dean Thomas doing the same thing, and shot him a look that would've killed a snake. "What are you looking at?" he demanded. "Move along, nothing more to see here."

Hermione, on the other hand, just looked terribly amused. "Ron, if you're so insecure about having a girlfriend who's comfortable with her sexuality, maybe we should rethink this relationship."

He gazed at her in utter shock. "It's one thing to be comfortable with your sexuality; it's another to flaunt it in the face of every male with eyes!"

"It's my way of making myself feel desirable," Hermione argued. "Besides… you're kinda cute when you're jealous."

Ron wasn't nearly so amused. "Is that all this is to you?" he demanded. "A game?"

Hermione walked toward him and pointed her index finger at his chest. "Ron, _everything _is a game. Including relationships—_especially _relationships. Now come on, play nice, and maybe I'll let you win."

Her finger slowly moved up his chest to his neck, chucking him lightly on the chin before she pulled it back and smiled smugly at him.

He just gaped at her for a minute. "What on earth has come over you?"

Her smile quickly faded. "It's called growing up, Ron. It happens to some of us. If you can't accept the new me, well, maybe that's just another sign that we're playing with the wrong people."

That put a stop to his righteous indignation. "Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

"You're a smart boy, Ron; put the clues together," said Hermione smoothly. "Look, I'm sorry to have to be bitchy about it, but… maybe we're both better off as friends. Growing apart, and all that."

Ron could only stare at her in utter disbelief. "Well, one thing's for sure," he said quietly. "You're not the girl I fell for."

"Of course I am, Ron," Hermione replied, rather flippantly for someone who'd just sent her boyfriend packing. "Maybe the girl you fell for isn't the real me."

_I'm not sure I _want _to know the real you,_ Ron found himself thinking, sadly. If this was indeed the real her, that is. He was beginning to wonder.

So he walked away, the fleeting glances and conspiratorial whispers of onlookers following him, mocking him. This week was going to suck. "Oh, man, did you hear about Weasley? Totally dumped in the Gryffindor common room!" "Man, Weasley, you sure got served." "Way to go, Weasley, dumped by Granger!" He could hear the taunts and jeers from the Slytherins already.

However, despite his depression and humiliation over being dumped, Ron couldn't shake the feeling that something was not right about Hermione. Sure, he knew people changed. So maybe she had grown up a bit and hadn't noticed. But this… this was out of hand. He found himself wondering if maybe some spell had backfired and altered her personality. It was quite possible that she'd meddled with magic above her level, given that advanced Charms seminar she was taking.

He was going to have to talk to Harry about it. The two of them would get to the bottom of this.


	6. The Way to a Girl’s Heart is Through a C

**Chapter Six**  
_The Way to a Girl's Heart is Through a Cup of Coffee_

The week crawled by entirely too slowly. Hermione thought playing Stayley might be easier now that she had broken up with Draco, but ironically, it really wasn't. She might've been considerably less stressed-out not having to dodge Malfoy's amorous advances all the time, but that left her with more time to spend in the vacuous company of Serenity and Eternity. Hermione was actually thankful for the heavy courseload that came with the approach of the end of the term, for it gave her an excuse to flee to the library and escape those two airheads.

The weekend brought the final Hogsmeade visit of the term. For the first time, Hermione actually _wasn't_ looking forward to it. She'd have no one to hang out with but Serenity and Eternity, and a whole day with them seemed almost too much to bear. She had only been impersonating Stayley for a little more than a week, and already she missed Harry and Ron more than anything. She had never realized how important her friends were until now. In a way, it was even harder because they were right there, hanging out with her skanky doppelganger, but she couldn't approach them or talk to them. How did Stayley stand it? How could she abide living such a lonely life with no one really to talk to but her cat and her two vapid lackeys? Whether Stayley ever had serious conversations with Malfoy or not remained a mystery, although Hermione had gathered there wasn't much more to their relationship than sex.

Saturday found her lonelier than she'd ever been, searching through Stayley's closet for an outfit to wear to Hogsmeade. Stayley seemed to possess an endless supply of halter tops, miniskirts, and sundresses, but had nothing suited for fall and winter in Scotland. Hermione had to settle for a pink wool coat, fine white leather gloves, a pink-and-white beanie, and shearling-trimmed white DKNY stiletto boots. She was getting more skilled at walking in Stayley's ridiculously high heels, but Hermione wasn't sure if she could navigate snow _and_ heels.

Once Hermione walked outside, Stayley's southern California wardrobe offered little protection against the chilly wind. She was grateful to get inside the Three Broomsticks and have a steaming mug of butterbeer whilst listening to Serenity and Eternity's endless round of inane chatter. She hazarded a glance across the room where Stayley was sitting next to Harry and Ron. Stayley was all over Harry, flirting outrageously. Harry looked extremely uncomfortable, and Ron looked about ready to kill someone. Hermione had heard of Stayley's rather unceremonious dumping of Ron in the Gryffindor common room—Serenity and Eternity were endless founts of gossip, even concerning other houses. She was more determined than ever to show that girl a thing or two once this whole disaster was over.

As the day wore on, Hermione couldn't stand it anymore. She turned down Serenity and Eternity's offer to go shopping for dress robes and considered cutting out early and heading back to school. At least she'd have some peace and quiet, possibly even a chance to sneak into Gryffindor Tower unnoticed and grab _Hogwarts: A History_ and maybe a couple other treasured belongings. While the other students chatted excitedly amongst themselves while wandering the streets of the village, Hermione turned and headed back toward school alone.

It had begun to snow again, and the late-afternoon wind brought a biting cold with it. Shivering, she pulled Stayley's coat more tightly around her. She hadn't made it very far when the sound of footsteps alerted her that someone was behind her.

She turned around to find Malfoy standing there, his black coat a stark contrast to his pale skin and hair. Inwardly, she groaned. "What do you want, Malfoy?" she asked tiredly.

He arched a pale eyebrow. "Well, what do you know? Stayley Smith, all alone… never thought I'd see the day."

"And here I was, almost unable to recognize you without your two shadows," Hermione snarked back.

Malfoy shrugged. "We're not joined at the hip."

"No, not all the time… just when you need someone to fight your battles for you."

He clapped a gloved hand dramatically over his heart. "Ouch, that hurt."

"Good." She gave a triumphant smile, turning away.

He heaved a sigh that sounded equal parts frustration and anger. "Jeez, Stayley, what is your problem lately? When did you become such a bitch?"

"Aren't I always a bitch?" she countered.

"Well, yes… but not to me."

"I was under the impression that you liked the bitch," Hermione said pertly. "Or would you rather I behave like one of your sycophants… Pansy, perhaps?"

"No… and what kind of word is sycophant, anyway? Did you swallow the dictionary or something?"

_Arrghhh_, Hermione thought in frustration. Playing Stayley was already hard enough… did she have to dumb herself down as well?

"Look, I don't know what your deal is, but for the past couple weeks, you're been acting different," Malfoy went on. "You've changed."

"I haven't changed," Hermione denied quickly. "I mean, I have, but I'm still Stayley."

He shook his head. "No, you're not… at least, not the Stayley I used to know."

"Oh? Well… what makes you say that?" Hermione fumbled, trying hard to assume Stayley's blasé arrogance.

"Well, for one thing, you care too much. Stayley could give a rat's ass about anyone or anything that doesn't benefit her personally. Stayley would've told me off for how I treated her. You told me off for how I treat everyone else."

Hermione shrugged. "So you're an equal-opportunity asshole."

"I wasn't to you." He stepped closer to her, and Hermione resisted the urge to back away. "I always treated you well, even when you didn't return the favor."

For once Hermione had no reply at the ready. Malfoy was right about that—in the time she'd been impersonating Stayley, he hadn't done anything truly abominable to her.

"So maybe you're right," she murmured. "But maybe that's not enough."

Malfoy gazed at her with confusion. "Then what is enough?"

Hermione hesitated, knowing she was failing miserably at staying in character. Thank Merlin she had never aspired to be an actress, because that was the one area of study in which she was truly abysmal. At that moment a particularly icy gust of wind blew past them, momentarily diverting her attention to her state of near-hypothermia.

"You look cold," Malfoy said, noticing her shivering. "Here." He removed his green-and-silver scarf and gently wrapped it around her neck. Startled, Hermione let him. She wondered once more if she'd slipped into Bizarro World. While she didn't imagine Malfoy pulled the wings off butterflies for fun and ate kittens for breakfast, she also didn't imagine that he had any capacity to be charitable, even to his friends. She figured he used people, the way he and Stayley apparently used each other.

His gloved hand lingered a bit longer than necessary at her shoulder, and suddenly she was embarrassed. He hastily looked away, and his hand wilted back to his side.

"Um, thanks," Hermione muttered. The scarf smelled like him—clean and kind of minty. Nice. Unfortunately, the smell made her think of being close to him, which made her think of kissing him, which was definitely something she did _not_ want to be thinking about right now.

"Don't worry about it," Malfoy said gruffly. "This isn't southern California, you know… you should've brought a more appropriate wardrobe."

"I know," Hermione said, her hands stuck in her coat pockets. Stayley's gloves were beautifully made but definitely not warm enough.

They stood there really awkwardly for a moment, and Hermione desperately wished to be anywhere but here. "Well, um, I should go," she blurted out. "I'll, um, return your scarf when we get back to the school."

"Not so fast," he interrupted before she could walk away. "You never answered my question."

"What question?" she asked.

"When you said our… arrangement wasn't enough anymore. I asked what is enough."

Oh, great. Way to dig herself into a hole. She'd had a chance to ditch him for good… why did she have to engage him in conversation? Against her better judgment, she turned to him and said, "How many sugars do I take in my coffee?"

He frowned, as though he wasn't sure he'd heard her right. "What?"

"My point exactly," Hermione said. "We've been going out for how long and you don't even know how I take my coffee? I don't want to be with someone who has no interest in anyone but himself."

"Hey, the term pot and kettle mean anything to you?" he countered. "The entire time we were together, you didn't give a crap about getting to know me, either. Well, at least not in anything other than the physical sense."

"You're right," Hermione acknowledged. "Neither of us cared. And we still don't care. Why drag out this charade if we both know it means nothing?"

Malfoy hesitated, biting his lip. Hermione started to turn away, when the sound of his voice stopped her. "It's just… you look lonely," he said, sounding oddly subdued. "I thought you could use the company. In an entirely non-sexual manner."

Hermione held back a sudden urge to giggle. "What is this? Draco Malfoy considering anyone other than himself?" she asked. "Or is this your ham-handed why of trying to win me back?"

"Well, if the way to your heart is through a cup of coffee…"

"The way to my heart or the way to my pants?" she retorted tartly.

"In the interests of not being hexed into kingdom come, I choose not to answer that."

"A wise decision," she joked. "You might be a prat, but you're not stupid."

To her surprise, he actually chuckled, and she found herself wanting to, as well. Not only was she having a (somewhat) civil conversation with Draco Malfoy, but she was actually _laughing_ with him.

This whole Stayley charade was rapidly passing disaster and moving into apocalyptic.

"So what do you say, Stayley?" he asked. "A cup of coffee at Madame Puddifoots? We can laugh at all the couples and see what poor soul the newly-dumped Weasley is snogging this week."

Hermione bristled, and the warm feelings she'd had toward Malfoy a moment ago cooled significantly. She knew it would be out of character for Stayley to defend Ron, however, so she just said, "Do we really have to spend the afternoon talking about Ron Weasley?"

Malfoy grimaced. "Good point. Although you must say his spectacular dumping in front of the whole of Gryffindor by Granger is rather glorious."

"I don't see why you take such joy in other people's misery."

"Oh, like those Gryffindors don't celebrate every time they screw us over," Malfoy spat out bitterly.

The vehemence in his tone threw her a bit, but as much as she hated to admit it, he might have a point. They did take a great deal of joy in his misfortune. However, he was just getting what was coming to him for being such a prat all the time. "Well, you can't exactly blame them," Hermione said carefully. "You're always on them all the time."

"Hey, whose side are you on, anyway?" He scowled. "You can't stand that lot any more than I can."

_Dammit,_ Hermione thought, too peeved to care about staying in character. "Maybe if you _all_ stopped acting like a bunch of eight-year-olds in a playground fight, it would do everyone a lot of good."

Malfoy snorted. "I'll start being nice to Weasel and Potter the day they start being nice to me."

Hermione shook her head, heaving a weary sigh. "You boys are never going to change, are you?"

"A guy's gotta get his kicks somehow."

"Come on… what kind of way of thinking is that?" Hermione asked disdainfully. "You actually _like_ the fact that everyone but your friends thinks you're the biggest git in school?"

He shrugged. "It's what they expect out of me. Might as well deliver. Besides… don't you love the look on Weasel's face when I get him good--or better yet, that know-it-all mudblood Granger?"

Hermione arched one of Stayley's perfectly waxed eyebrows. "You know, if I didn't know better, I'd say you were _threatened_ by them."

Malfoy stared at her as though she'd just accused him of being a closet muggle lover. "Me threatened by Potter and his sidekicks? Surely you jest."

"Methinks the Malfoy doth protest too much," she quipped in response. "Take that vile word you throw at Granger all the time. Quickest and easiest way to cut her down, without having to actually think of something witty."

"Oh please!" Malfoy said. "Like you've never used that word!"

"I can think of many ways to insult people I dislike that have nothing to do with their heritage," Hermione countered, feeling weirder and weirder as this conversation went on—having to impersonate a bigoted snob was not her forte. "Why do you never insult Granger's study habits or, as you put it, 'know-it-all' personality? You always go for the muggle heritage. It doesn't make you look witty… it just makes you look simpleminded."

He gaped at her for a moment. "You know, I'd have never figured you for a muggle-lover."

"What can I say? Guess I'm a filthy blood traitor," she taunted, as though daring him to agree. "Or maybe I just don't enjoy engaging in a battle of wit with an unarmed opponent."

He didn't seem to know what to make of her. "What has come _over_ you?"

"The sheer joy of messing with you, of course," Hermione replied, which was somewhat true. "You are too easy."

"Well, if you enjoy messing with me so much, then why did you end our arrangement?" he asked, unconvinced.

"Like I said, I have no interest in dating someone who has no idea how many sugars I take in my coffee."

By now, they had arrived at Madam Puddifoot's and paused outside the door. "So is this what it'll take to get back in your good graces?" Malfoy asked. "I have to memorize how you take your caffeinated drinks?"

"No, there's also the matter of how I like my eggs done and my favorite flavor of ice cream," she quipped. "And, you know, not being an obnoxious prat."

"You dig the obnoxious prat. You know it."

Hermione wrinkled Stayley's perfect nose. "No, I don't."

He seemed amused by her discomfort. "Tell me there's not one part of you that doesn't get turned on by my so-called obnoxious nature."

"There really isn't."

Malfoy stepped closer to her, his usual smirk firmly in place. "You're lying."

"That's your specialty." He was getting into invade-your-personal space territory. But Hermione was too invested in this little battle of wills to back down.

"Oh, but I don't lie," Malfoy corrected her. "I might be an obnoxious prat, but I say what I'm thinking. What you see is what you get."

OK, he was _definitely_ in her personal space now. "I thought you said this was purely non-sexual."

"OK… so maybe I lied about that." His face was literally inches from hers now and Hermione once again found herself immobilized, as though his proximity had cast some kind of curse on her. She definitely was starting to feel a little out of control.

"You miss me, Stayley," he murmured. "You miss _this._"

Her pulse beat furiously in her throat as he leaned in and kissed her. His lips were cool and soft and tasted lightly of butterbeer and treacle tarts. As his arms slid around her she suddenly wasn't so cold anymore. She wondered, crazily, what it would be like to be kissing Draco in her own body. She'd be shorter than Stayley, so she'd have to lean up more. Maybe stand on tiptoe. Would she still get the same pleasant shivers and the slow, heady warmth that started deep inside and flowed through her veins like warm honey? Despite the fact that she despised him with every fiber of her being, would kissing him still send a thrill rocketing all through her that was anything but revulsion? Would she still wish it wasn't so damn cold that she could take these gloves off and run her fingers through his silky hair?

"You know," Hermione said shakily when he released her lips, "Maybe having coffee wasn't such a good idea."

"Maybe if we hurry, we can make it back to school and have the room to ourselves," he suggested with a wicked grin.

The suggestion was enough to bring Hermione's madly swirling thoughts back to somewhere near sanity. "I told you I'm through with that."

"Your loss." He shrugged, but he regarded her with an expression that could almost be described as affectionate. "So what's it going to be, Stayley? Coffee? Or heading back to school in the cold… in which case, I fear you will have to give me my scarf back."

"You're blackmailing me."

"You're quite perceptive."

"You're buying," Hermione warned him, brushing past and heading for the door.

"Fine, if you can tell me how I take _my_ coffee." He smirked, sure that he had her.

"Black," Hermione said without hesitation. "No sugar or cream."

Malfoy stared at her with wide eyes. "How'd you know that?"

She merely flashed him a knowing smile. "Told you I know who you are," she said, and walked into the coffee house.

------------------------------------------

Draco had been having a very strange day.

He'd originally thought the Hogsmeade visit would be a nice chance to mess with Granger outside of school. But he hadn't had a chance to get her alone—she was too busy throwing herself at Potter. As much as it made him ill to watch, he did derive a sort of sick satisfaction at Weasley's suffering.

And then Stayley had come along. He'd figured after the scene at school, he was done with her. He had too much pride to go sniffing around after a girl who clearly didn't want him. When he'd seen her walking back from Hogsmeade alone, he'd figured he'd use the chance to get one last dig in.

It hadn't exactly turned out that way.

Instead, they ended up having coffee in Madame Puddifoot's and, ironically, they were about the only couple _not_ attached at the lip. What's more, he didn't even really feel like he was hanging out with Stayley. Sure, she still _looked_ the same, but she seemed different somehow. For one thing, defending the Golden Trio. Normally Stayley would be slagging them off right along with him. And what was up with the muggleborn-loving attitude?

Yet arguing with her was strangely fun. He found he rather enjoyed anticipating whatever remark she'd fire at him and then trying to one-up her. And the way she kissed… Merlin, it was intoxicating! He couldn't really place what had changed… kissing Stayley had never been unpleasant, but these days, there was something distinctly different about it. She seemed softer, more delicate, definitely eager for him to take the lead. And he had no problem with that. Stayley had pursued him, but sometimes he rather liked being the pursuer.

Wait a minute… did this mean he wanted Stayley back?

_Well, why not?_ he reasoned. She was a good shag. He'd put up with her vapid chatter for that reason. And considering that he'd actually enjoyed her company today, maybe that would be an added benefit.

Of course, he could still go after Granger. Stayley wouldn't care. She probably wouldn't even find out.

Feeling happier than he had in days, Draco found himself glad he hadn't been able to Avada Kedavra himself the other day. He fell asleep eagerly anticipating his next move in his latest scheme.


	7. The Way to a Man’s Heart is Through His

**Chapter Seven**  
_The Way to a Man's Heart is Through His Pants_

Stayley Smith was quite pleased with herself.

The trip to Hogsmeade had been a smashing success. OK, so maybe Potter wasn't exactly whipped yet, but he was getting there. She'd gotten in some good flirting today, enough to make him feel uncomfortable and probably more than a little turned on. Unfortunately there was the matter of dumping Weasley, and Harry was too loyal to his best friend to start shagging his ex, who also happened to be his close friend.

_Damn, this trio really is incestuous_, Stayley reflected. Who'd have thunk those uptight Gryffindors would have such a deliciously juicy triangle going on behind the fat lady's portrait?

After Stayley put phase two of her plan into action, Potter would surely be putty in her hands. She had figured his loyalty to Ron would be a problem, so instead of getting to Potter through his heart, she'd aim a little lower.

Granger might not have been a stunning beauty, but Stayley was right about one thing—there was quite a bit of pretty hiding under the bushy hair and frumpy uniform. A little makeup, a little cleavage, and a frizz-fixing charm would work wonders. And Granger did have a pretty nice set of gams. Shame she kept them covered all the time.

That evening, Stayley strode down to the Gryffindor common room with the best casual-but-sexy look she could come up with, considering what Granger's wardrobe offered. Clad in drawstring pajama bottoms, a zip-front hoodie, and white tank top with no bra, she surveyed the common room for Harry. The castle was usually cold and drafty—a fact Stayley resented because she really didn't look cute all bundled up—but the fire burning in the hearth heated the Gryffindor common room up to a nice temperature.

"Hey, Harry, what's up?" she asked airily, finding the boy in question sprawled across the sofa thumbing through his worn copy of _Quidditch Through the Ages._ Ever so casually, she plopped down right next to him even though there were two empty chairs nearby.

"I, umm…" He looked exceedingly awkward, adjusting his position so she wasn't pressed up against him.

"Hey, no need to move; it's cool. We're all friends here," she assured him, tucking her bare feet neatly under her and leaning casually against the back of the couch. "Oh, man, it's hot in here. Are you hot?" she asked, taking off her hoodie and tossing it on the coffee table.

Harry gulped, his gaze lingering a moment on her chest before he hastily yanked it away. The thin material of her tank top was almost see-through. "Um, it is kind of warm in here."

Stayley glanced at the book in his hands and arched an eyebrow. "Working hard, Harry, or hardly working?"

If it was possible, he looked even more flustered, and hastily put the book down. "I, um, was taking a break."

"Good, good. I've been hitting the books pretty hard and thought I'd come down and hang out for a bit. And look… I brought chocolate frogs!" Grinning, she produced the box she had brought down to the lounge with her.

"Oh, nice." He perked up a bit, his love for the candy overcoming his discomfiture at her flirtiness.

"These aren't just any frogs, though… they've got cherry filling. Nummy." Stayley pulled one from the box and took a bite, sticky red syrup dribbling onto her fingertips. "You try."

She shoved the half-bitten candy at him, clearly expecting him to take it. Rather awkwardly, he did, and popped it in his mouth. "These are good," he agreed.

"Totally… they are kind of messy, though." She raised her sticky fingers to her mouth and sucked on them slowly and with relish. Harry's eyes practically bugged out of his face.

H wasn't the only one. Dean, Seamus, Lavender, Parvati, and Neville were staring at the pair with open curiosity.

"You got some on your face." Without waiting for him to answer, Stayley leaned in and gently dabbed the cherry syrup from his lower lip, letting her thumb linger on his lip a moment before grazing across it lightly.

Harry gulped. "Um… thanks…"

"No problem." Stayley raised her finger to her lips and very deliberately licked the remaining syrup off of it.

Harry stared at her finger as though entranced. "Um… not to be rude or anything but… what are you doing?"

"Just sharing some chocolate frogs with a good friend." Plucking another candy from the box, Stayley took a bite and held the rest out to him. "Here."

She clearly expected him to eat it out of her hand. As he did, his lips lightly brushed her fingers.

"Hermione," Harry said, sounding extremely flustered. "I can't think of any way to say this without it sounding really awkward…."

"So?" Stayley asked, unruffled. "You can tell me. We're all friends here."

"That's the problem," she thought she heard him mutter. He looked up. "Um, I mean no offense by this or anything, but… are you hitting on me?"

_Ding ding! It's no wonder they call you the Boy Who Lived and not the Boy Genius._ "I suppose you could say that, yes."

Harry gulped, clearly not expecting such a forthright answer. "Oh."

"Come on, Harry… you know it's not just me here," Stayley purred, leaning even closer to him. She ran her sticky finger along his lower lip, smearing cherry syrup onto it. "Don't you ever think about us?"

"You mean like… romantically?" he blurted out, his face almost as red as the cherry syrup.

"I suppose you could put it that way," Stayley replied coyly, licking what was left of the syrup off her fingers. "I was thinking more on a physical level."

"Oh." Something seemed to click inside his head. "_Oh._"

"I mean, we've been friends for years," Stayley went on. She ran her finger across the buttons of his shirt. "Don't tell me you've never looked at me and thought about what it would be like to… you know."

Harry had moved on from looking flustered to terrified. "I, uhh…."

"There's no need to be embarrassed," Stayley went on casually, fiddling with his collar. "It's completely natural. I'm a girl, you're a guy, we spend lots of time together… did you really believe that a male/female friendship between two reasonably attractive people will always remain purely platonic?"

"I, uhh…" That seemed to be his stunningly articulate answer for everything.

"I mean there's no shame in it," Stayley continued. "I've thought about it. Quite a bit actually. It's not like I'm falling in love with you. I mean, that would be nice, I suppose, but I wouldn't think of it that way if we… experimented a bit."

Harry nearly choked on his chocolate.

"Oh, my goodness. Careful. _Accio,_" she said, summoning a water bottle while rubbing her hand lightly over his back. She held out the water bottle to him, which he drank from gratefully.

Her hand was still on his back, which wasn't helping matters.

"Seriously, though," Stayley went on. "It doesn't have to change our friendship at all. But see, this is one thing I've been dying to learn about that I can't really learn about in books… well, I can, but I feel that this is something I'll have to _experience_ to understand fully, you know?"

Harry, finally over his coughing fit, looked up at her. "But what about Ron?" he croaked, stupidly.

"Oh, Ron and I never made it that far," Stayley whispered conspiratorially. "I don't think we were really compatible on that level. Besides, it's not like I'm cheating on him or anything. We broke up."

Harry was gazing at Stayley-as-Hermione as though she had gone completely insane. "I can't believe you're suggesting what I think you're suggesting!"

"Oh, relax, Harry… I still don't know why you think it's such a big deal," Stayley brushed off. "Besides… you never answered my question."

He looked more rattled than ever. "What question?"

"You know… do you ever think of me…?" Her voice trailed off as she gazed at him, her expression heavy with meaning. She saw his Adam's apple bob, but he didn't shy away from her.

"I, uhh…"

Her finger made its way to his chin, tipping his face up. "You've still got some syrup…"

With that, she leaned forward and ran her tongue along his lower lip, licking up what was left of the cherry syrup. Harry froze, wearing an expression much like a deer in the headlights of a car.

Stayley pulled away, fixing him with a knowing smile. "I think we have our answer," she murmured, her gaze flicking to the tent pitched in the front of his pants. He hastily grabbed a cushion and held it over his lap.

"Think about it, Harry." Stayley set the box of chocolate frogs down in front of him. "Here. If I eat too many, it'll totally make me break out." With that, she stood up, scooped up her discarded hoodie and strode out of the room, swinging her hips with an effortless seductiveness.

She didn't have to look at Harry to know he was gazing after her.

Oh yes, the day had definitely been a smashing success.

------------------------------

Over the next week, gossip flew thick and heavy through the halls of Hogwarts. Among the hottest topics were Draco and Stayley's renewed-and-even-hotter-than-ever romance, and of course the sordid Gryffindor trio love triangle.

"So like, I heard that Granger really dumped Weasley because she was having some kind of steamy affair with Potter," Serenity told Hermione-as-Stayley gravely.

"Yeah, supposedly she was all over him in the Gryffindor common room last night," Eternity added. "They aren't even trying to hide it anymore!"

"I heard that Granger never gave it up to Weasley, and he thinks she's still got her V card while she's been totally screwing Potter's brains out," Serenity piped up.

"Where do you guys hear this shit, anyway?" Hermione muttered, grouchier than usual. Stayley was going _down_.

Serenity and Eternity fixed her with incredulous stares. "It's like all over school!" Serenity said. "How can you not?"

"Well, she has been holed up in the library a lot," Eternity pointed out. "Jeez, Stayley, I have never seen you study so much."

"Who says she's studying?" said Serenity slyly. "I heard that she and Draco almost got caught making out in the stacks."

Hermione hastily gulped down pumpkin juice, hoping to hide her blush. That rumor actually was true. She knew it was wrong of her to take so much enjoyment in the physical side of her relationship with Malfoy, but dammit, he was a good kisser.

Of course, he was still an asshole. That would never change. Yet during this bizarre masquerade there were moments when she felt a genuine feeling toward him other than loathing. Sometimes she almost enjoyed his company… well, other than the kissing part. And perhaps a bit of groping as well.

_I have so got to get back in my body soon_, Hermione thought, panicking. _Before I do something really stupid. Like say, Malfoy._

She floated through the rest of the day, as if still in a daze. During history of magic, one of the prefects came into class with a note. "Stayley Smith, Professor Dumbledore wants to see you."

"Ooooohhhhh." A low rumble emanated through the class. Face flaming, Hermione got up, grabbed her books, and followed the prefect. She'd never been called out of class before. What had Stayley done this time?

She walked uneasily into Dumbledore's office, feeling a cold shiver of dread move through her. She _hated_ being in trouble. Even if it wasn't really her, but Stayley who was in trouble.

"Good afternoon, Miss Smith," Dumbledore said pleasantly, as though he hadn't just pulled her out of class in the middle of the day. "How are you today?"

"Very good, sir," she squeaked. "And how are you?"

"Good, good." He seemed quite cheerful for someone about to bust a student's ass. "I've been looking over your grades lately and I've noticed a marked improvement. I'm very glad to see you putting some effort into it, Stayley… I always knew you were bright."

"Thank you, sir." Hermione crossed and uncrossed her legs. She didn't know what to do with her hands. Finally she just left them folded on her lap.

"Perhaps the events of this term have taught you a lesson," the headmaster went on. "Have you had any luck finding a new school?"

"A new school?" Hermione blurted out, dumbly.

"Yes… I know it's difficult to find a place that will admit you halfway through the year, but because you've been doing so well in the past few weeks, I wanted you to know I would be glad to write a letter of recommendation," Dumbledore went on. "Perhaps that might help your chances."

"Umm… thank you, sir." Hermione could only stare blankly at him. A new school? Had Stayley been kicked out?

"It's a shame about what happened here at Hogwarts. I hope you'll have better fortune wherever you decide to go next," Dumbledore told her regretfully.

"Is that all, professor?" Hermione asked, several conflicting thoughts swirling madly in her head.

"Yes, that is all. You may return to class."

Dazedly, she got up and left the office. What the hell was going on here? Stayley had to leave school by the end of the term? Was _that_ why she'd cast this ridiculous spell?

_I should've known!_ Hermione thought, furious. "Why that sneaky, small-minded, selfish little bitch…."

She hadn't realized she'd spoken the words aloud until a familiar voice piped up, "Having a bad day, sweetheart?"

She turned to find Malfoy reclining casually against the wall, smirk firmly in place.

"Draco!" Hermione hissed. "You're supposed to be in class!"

He shrugged. "I ditched. History of magic is painfully dull."

"But… but what if Filch catches you?"

"That old coot? He's easy enough to avoid," he said dismissively. "And what about you? Why aren't you in class?"

"I got called into Dumbledore's office," she muttered, afraid to say more for fear she would fly into a homicidal rage.

"Again? What for?"

This wasn't the first time Stayley had been called in by Dumbledore? "He asked me if I'd had any luck finding a new school."

Malfoy's pale eyebrows shot up. "You got kicked out?"

"I didn't tell you?" Hermione asked, forgetting herself for a moment.

"Not unless I've been oblivated at some point without knowing it."

"Oh, blast… I guess I forgot," she said lamely. Stayley _would_ forget something like telling her boyfriend/fuck buddy/whatever about getting kicked out of school. "Well, the cat's out of the bag, and my days here are numbered."

"There's no way you can stay?" he asked, looking concerned. "That's why you've been spending so much time in the library, isn't it? You thought by bringing your grades up old Dumbledore would let you stay?"

"Well, yeah," Hermione agreed, seizing the excuse to explain her out-of-character behavior and still processing the fact that Malfoy was actually concerned about someone other than himself. "A whole lot of good that did."

"This is so messed-up," he grumbled. "Potter and his sidekicks break rules all the time, and everyone turns a blind eye. I wonder what would've happened if it had been Granger who pulled all those stunts and not you."

Despite the gravity of the situation, Hermione couldn't help it--she burst out laughing.

"What? What's so funny?"

"Can you picture _Granger_ spiking the punch at the Halloween feast? Or smoking outside the school? Or…." She was laughing so hard she could barely breathe. "Sneaking into the Sytherin boys dorm to…to…."

Malfoy had started laughing, too. "Granger drunk would be glorious… but caught shagging a Slytherin? That would be my dream come true."

"Oh, would it?" Hermione arched an eyebrow. "Which Slytherin, pray tell?"

"Does it matter?" he retorted. "Just the idea of any of us getting a piece of that Gryffindor ass…."

Hermione bristled. "You know, if I didn't know better, I'd say you're carrying a torch for her."

That wiped the smirk off his face. "Me carrying a torch for _Granger?_ I'm really starting to think all this studying has driven you mad."

"And I'm starting to think it makes a lot of sense," Hermione mused. "You're always talking about her, and you seem to take special delight in tormenting her…."

"You know what I think?" Malfoy fired back, determined to get the upper hand. "I think you're jealous."

Hermione burst into giggles again. If only he knew!

Malfoy did not take too kindly to being laughed at. "_What_ is so funny?"

She just shook her head, her eyes practically tearing up. "Just you, Draco. You amuse me so."

"Oh, I do, do I?" He moved toward her with an expression that was anything but amusing. "Would you like me to show you just how amusing I can be?"

Hermione tried to ignore the little thrill that coursed through her at his tone… low, dangerous, vaguely threatening. Definitely sexy.

_Oh, Merlin help me, I just used the word "sexy" in reference to Malfoy._

"If you really are that threatened by Granger, perhaps I should prove to you that you have nothing to worry about," he continued.

"Oh, I _know_ I have nothing to worry about," Hermione assured him, practically flush against him by now. "But you can feel free to convince me."

_Oh, dear Merlin, did I really just say that?_

A slow smile spread across his face. "Come," he said, grabbing her hand.

"Wait, now? We have potions in fifteen minutes!" Hermione exclaimed, stumbling behind him.

"That's all we need," Malfoy assured her, and pulled her down the hall to the dungeons.


	8. Getting Down and Dirty in Potions

**Chapter Eight**  
_Getting Down and Dirty in Potions_

Double potions was the last class of the day and, as usual, it showed in the students' restless behavior. It was getting worse now that the winter holiday was approaching. Stayley strode into the class room several minutes early and sat next to Harry, who gazed at her with eyes almost as round as his glasses. "Hey, Harry!" she greeted him casually, taking a great deal of delight in the way he squirmed. "Ready to get down and dirty today?"

"Wh-hat?" he stammered, looking terrified.

"You know… down and dirty. With potions," she said. She bent down to grab her book from her bag, presenting him with a clear view down her shirt. He gulped and looked away quickly.

Meanwhile, Draco and Hermione-as-Stayley came rushing in just as the bell was ringing, both looking rather mussed. Right before they sat down, Stayley thought she saw Hermione gesturing frantically at Draco's fly, which he promptly zipped up hoping no one else had noticed. Hermione self-consciously ran a hand through Stayley's tangled blonde mane and buttoned up the top few buttons of her blouse, which had been open when she came running in.

_Looks like Granger's having a spot of fun as me,_ Stayley thought slyly. She didn't even mind much sharing Draco. Frankly, Granger could use a good lay. Might loosen up that stick permanently wedged up her pale little Gryffindor butt.

Meanwhile, Stayley was going to have a little fun of her own.

"So, Harry," she asked, chewing on the top of her pen, "Have you given any thought to my offer?"

His gaze, which had been glued to the pen, hastily shifted to her face. "I, uhh…."

"Because you know it still stands." Stayley's hand found his knee under the table and gave a light squeeze.

"I, um, I'm sure it does," he stammered, forcing himself to keep his gaze straight ahead.

"I'm not averse to doing a little… convincing, if I must." Her hand ever so slowly began to creep up his thigh.

Unfortunately, before Harry could say anything more, Snape walked to the front of the room and called the class to order. As he took roll, it was all Harry could do to focus on the teacher's voice as Stayley-as-Hermione's hand eased up his thigh, her fingers ever so lightly grazing the seam of his trousers.

"Potter!" Snape called just as Stayley-as-Hermione's fingers trailed over the lump beneath his trousers.

"Here!" he squeaked, not daring to look at his seatmate's face as Snape continued the roll call.

"Today we're going to be brewing blah blah blah…" the teacher droned on. Well, not really. Snape was saying something that likely made actual sense, but as far as Harry was concerned, it might as well have been gibberish. Stayley-as-Hermione's hand was moving skillfully over his trousers, which were getting uncomfortably tight. Her hand curled around his erection and squeezed lightly, and he nearly groaned aloud.

"… It's very important that you add the ingredients in the proper order, for one minor mistake could throw the whole potion off…." Snape continued.

Stayley's hand eased down the fly of Harry's trousers and slipped inside. She stroked him ever so lightly over his boxers, and he bit down hard on his lower lip to keep from moaning.

"… So I strongly urge all of you to pay very close attention to this lesson. If I catch any of you slacking off…."

Stayley casually jotted down notes with her right hand as her left eased into Harry's boxers and curled around his erection.

He nearly jumped five feet in the air.

Frowning, Snape turned to Harry and Stayley-as-Hermione's table. "Is something wrong, Mr. Potter?"

"Ummm… no, Professor Snape. Everything's fine," he rasped.

"You seem rather jumpy today," Snape went on, peering closely at his pupil. "I know winter holiday is just around the corner, but that is no excuse to stop paying attention in class."

"No, sir," Harry went on, biting his lower lip very hard as Stayley's nimble fingers began to stroke up and down.

"Well, try to restrain yourself for the remainder of class, please," Snape said dryly. "Unless you would rather be up here teaching."

"No, I'm fine here," Harry assured Snape, trying very, very hard to sit still as Stayley continued to jerk him off under the table.

Meanwhile, Stayley-as-Hermione was innocently chewing on her pen while keeping her eyes trained to the greasy-haired teacher.

"Consider this your last warning, Potter," Snape said ominously, glaring at the boy in question for a moment before returning his attention to his lesson plan.

Harry turned to stare in shock at Stayley, who peered back at him with a ghost of a sly smile. Her tongue darted out to wet her glossy lips, before she lifted her pen and slid it back into her mouth.

And this was the same moment when her other hand decided to pick up the pace.

Harry groaned aloud.

Snape turned to him with fury flashing in his eyes. "Potter, are you having some kind of problem?"

"No, sir, everything is fine," he assured Snape, struggling to maintain some outer semblance of normalcy. This whole class felt like surreal, like he was caught in some kind of wet dream—erm, dream. Yes, that's right.

Oh, who is he kidding? This was _so_ his wet dream. Except for the Snape busting his ass part.

"I've already warned you once. I'm thinking it's time to start handing out detentions. Any other volunteers?"

The whole room went silent as death. Twenty pairs of eyes swung towards a deeply uncomfortable-looking Harry and an innocent-looking Hermione. Who seemed to have a thing for chewing on her pen.

"Miss Granger?"

"Yes, Professor Snape," Stayley-as-Hermione said promptly, her expression giving no clue as to what her left hand was doing under the desk.

"I trust you've done the reading for today… can you tell me why we must have egg of newt and not salamander?"

"While salamander eggs can sometimes be substituted for newt with few ill effects, when combined with dragon's hide as with this potion, the results can be completely unpredictable," Stayley said easily.

Scowling, Snape said grudgingly, "Very good. That will win back ten of the twenty points docked from Gryffindor today, thanks to Potter."

Stayley only smiled sweetly as she continued to work toward Harry's far more predictable results under the table.

Meanwhile, Harry gritted his teeth while beads of sweat formed on his forehead. His breathing had grown quick and shallow and he knew he wasn't going to last much longer. Clearly, Stayley-as-Hermione knew it as well. She peered studiously down at her notes, absentmindedly fiddling with her collar, which drew attention to the narrow V of smooth skin that showed where the top three buttons of her shirt were undone. "Oh, man, they cranked up the heating again today," she complained, her eyes fixed on Harry's as she reached up with her free hand to unfasten yet another button. He caught a glimpse of lacy black bra as she trailed a finger along the edge of her blouse and into her cleavage.

That was it for him. His climax crashed into him so suddenly and violently that he let out an involuntary groan. There was a loud _thunk_ as he accidentally kicked the leg of the desk.

Stayley hastily pulled her hand back as once again, the attention of the entire class was focused on Harry.

"Mr. Potter," Snape said, looking livid, "What is the meaning of this? Are you so bored that you feel the need to disrupt the class repeatedly?"

"I, umm… I'm sorry. I… hit my foot on the desk," Harry said, the words sounding even lamer out loud than they did in his head.

Snape wasn't convinced. "Are you sure you're feeling all right? Perhaps you should go to the infirmary before you infect Miss Granger."

"No!" Harry exclaimed, panicking. His trousers will still unzipped and he was still, erm, standing at attention, to a degree. He couldn't get up now! "I mean, umm, I'm fine, professor. Really."

Harry's face was flaming as he hazarded a glance at his seatmate, who sat primly beside him, legs crossed and hands folded neatly atop them. "I don't believe he's sick, professor," said Stayley sweetly.

Snape didn't pay her comment any heed. He'd figured she'd stick up for her fellow Gryffindor and friend. "Very well. Potter, I expect to see you in this room after class for detention. And that's only if I don't hear one more peep out of you for the rest of class. If I do, I assure you more serious disciplinary actions will be taken."

He glared at Harry for a few moments, then returned to his lecture. Harry slumped forward in his seat, awkwardly cleaning himself up as best he could with just his handkerchief, then zipping up and pulling his robes over his lap. Had this really happened with _Hermione_, of all people? His prim, proper, rule-abiding absolutely-no-sexual-interest-in-him-whatsoever best friend? Although clearly, that last part had changed.

And he couldn't help but wonder when she got so experienced with, erm, things.

If even a few months ago, anyone told him that Hermione would proposition him for casual sex and then give him a hand job in class, he'd have either laughed hysterically, called them a sicko, or defended her honor. Probably all three. Now, rumors were flying around the school about he and Hermione having some torrid affair while she was dating Ron, and Ron wasn't speaking to him after the whole incident in the common room.

Something was seriously wrong with Hermione. No matter how irresistible she might find Harry (and he found that hard to believe), she would never do a thing like that to Ron. It wasn't in her nature to be so heartless and… well, slutty. She had to be under some kind of spell.

He was going to figure it out, and soon. Because if he didn't, there was a very good chance that the next time she cornered him he wouldn't be able to resist.

She might've been Hermione, but she was still a girl, after all. And she did have really nice legs.

----------------------------------------

After potions class, Harry followed Ron after the redheaded boy hightailed it out of the room. "Hey, Ron, wait up!"

Ron pretended not to hear him. Jogging through the hall, Harry grabbed his friend's arm. "We have to talk."

Ron glared at him, pulling his arm away as though he feared Harry would infect it or something. "I have nothing more to say to you."

"Look, this is serious," Harry said, irritated. "You can be mad at me all you want over those silly—and completely untrue—rumors, but what I'm about to tell you is a little bit more important than that. I'll meet you in the common room after dinner. You better be there. And don't bring Hermione."

The sound of Hermione's name caused Ron to give an involuntary twitch. "Fine, I'll be there," he said grudgingly, his tone making it clear he was only cooperating because he feared that Harry was discussing the latest evil threat to hit the school. "Speak of the devil, here she comes."

Now it was Harry's turn to give an involuntary twitch as Hermione strode up to them, looking tremendously pleased. After all, she did get exceptionally high marks that day for her potion. "Hey guys, what's shakin'?"

"Shakin'?" Harry echoed, stupidly.

"Umm… must be another slang I picked up tutoring Stayley," she covered quickly. "Speaking of which, did you see her and Malfoy? I mean, those two should just get a room already."

She flashed Harry a meaningful look, and he proceeded to turn as red as her lip gloss.

"Ugh, the last thing this world needs is for those two to procreate," Ron muttered darkly, looking like he'd just spent the past two hours sucking on a lemon. "Hey, I gotta go. See you two later." He took off before anyone could say anything.

"Gee, what crawled up his arse today?" Hermione remarked, looking rather unconcerned.

_Oh, gee, it could be that his ex-girlfriend has immediately started scamming on his best friend, besides acting like a total slut bomb,_ Harry thought, more convinced than ever that his friend wasn't herself.

Hermione shrugged. "Listen, Harry, I gotta take off… gotta grab some books from the library. I trust you had a good time in class today." With a sly smile, she patted his arm. "Let me know when you plan on picking up where we left off. Love ya, bye!" She sashayed off down the hall, clearly basking in the attention as several male heads turned to gaze at her.

"Hey, what are you looking at?" Harry demanded of a nearby Hufflepuff boy, who had clearly been checking out her butt. Harry was feeling strangely defensive of Hermione even though he figured she was under a curse or something. The Hufflepuff boy muttered an excuse before hastily scuttling off.

_Ron better show up tonight_, Harry thought darkly. It was time to get to the bottom of this.

-----------------------------

_I really shouldn't be here,_ Hermione thought as she and Draco slipped into the boys' dormitory. She waited as her companion hung the familiar coat hanger on the door and advanced toward her with a predatory—and oh, so sexy—expression. A shiver raced through her body and it wasn't for the same reason it had the last time she'd been here.

_This is a really, really bad idea,_ she told herself as Malfoy swept her into his arms and kissed her deeply. Unfortunately, rational thought rapidly seemed to be leaving her mind as they continued to kiss.

"Umm… Draco?" she mumbled as he kissed her neck, having already unfastened her tie and tossed it on the bed.

"Mmmm?" he murmured against her neck, undoing the buttons on her shirt.

It was with great difficulty that she pulled away. "I, umm… I thought we weren't doing this anymore."

"Really." He regarded her with a sly smile. "Perhaps you should've thought of that before the little stunt you pulled today…."

Hermione felt the warming tingle of a blush. When they'd sneaked down to the dungeons before potions, she hadn't thought they'd do more than the standard kissing and groping. But for some reason, she'd been feeling naughty, and her curiosity got the better of her. He was kissing her and his hands were under her blouse when she unzipped his trousers and slipped her hand inside. She wasn't a stranger to such activities—she'd done this for Ron a couple of times, so she knew what she was doing. Before this whole body-switching snafu, they'd just been at the stage in their relationship when they were experimenting. They hadn't gone "all the way" yet, and she wasn't sure if it was because she wasn't ready or they simply hadn't gotten around to it yet.

She was terrified that might change if she stayed here much longer.

_This is crazy!_ she told herself. First of all, she wasn't even in her own body. She was in Stayley's. Technically, it wasn't _her_ Draco was kissing. Furthermore, the idea that she would even consider going "all the way" with her worst enemy, a boy she had despised since she was eleven, was just too insane to contemplate. For the first time in her life she found herself completely unable to approach a situation with her usual logic and practicality. For once, she wanted to throw logic out the window and just _feel._

She was starting to understand why her roommates did those things she'd previously thought of as stupid, crazy, or… well, skanky.

"Come on, Stayley…" Malfoy told her coaxingly. "It's not like we've never done this before."

Maybe he and _Stayley_ had done this before. But what would he do if he knew that the girl he was kissing wasn't really Stayley?

"I know, but… I was kind of liking the way we relate to each other when we're not… you know…" Hermione said, stalling for time.

To her shock and dismay, a slow smile spread across his face. "I know, huh? This was actually a good idea of yours… let me tell you, this past week, you've been driving me _crazy._"

"I, um, have?" she fumbled, finding it increasingly hard to concentrate with him running his hands down her back, over the thin material of her shirt. She was thinking about how it would feel to have his hands on her bare skin instead…

"Oh, yes… acting all prim and proper and Granger-like."

Well, he sure knew how to kill a girl's libido.

Hermione pushed away from him. "Granger again! What is it with you and her?"

Malfoy actually looked vaguely flustered. "Well… I can't help it. For some odd reason you've been really reminding me of her. I think after being tutored by her for so long she's rubbing off on you or something."

"And that turns you on?" Hermione asked. "Is that why you've been all over me this week? You're imagining her?"

"Of course not!" His flushed face belied his words. "I just…."

"Should I dye my hair brown?" Hermione asked, advancing toward him. "Perform a charm to make it bushy, perhaps? Should I steal a set of Gryffindor robes and wear a S.P.E.W. badge?"

He stared at her with an expression on his face that could only be described as strange. "Stayley, you're being silly."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Hermione continued, with the familiar satisfaction she usually garnered from messing with him. She traced one of Stayley's manicured nails over the front of his shirt. "You, dear, are even kinkier than I thought."

She let out a gasp as he suddenly grabbed her arms, yanking her toward him. "I want to be with _you_, Stayley," Malfoy said firmly, his voice low and dangerous. "If I wanted to be with Granger, she'd be here instead."

Hermione merely arched an eyebrow. "Would she? I imagine Granger's response to you propositioning her would more likely involve a hex that causes strange boils to crop up on your--"

"Stayley," Malfoy said in a tone that was almost menacing, "Can we please stop talking about Granger now?"

"If you insist… although the fact that I was willing to go along with your little fantasy might give you a run in the kink department." She pulled away from him and walked over to the bed.

He seemed at a loss. "You were?"

She nodded, reclining casually against the 300-thread count sheets. "Go on," she encouraged him. "Call me a filthy mudblood. Do your worst."

He still appeared unsure whether to believe she was serious or not. "If I do, will you slap me in the face?"

She laughed. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

His response was to push her down on the bed, pinning her beneath him. "I don't think I want to play anymore."

"You know if I was really Granger, I'd knee you in the groin."

"Perhaps." He was thinking of that bizarre incident in potions class. "Or maybe she secretly fancies me."

Hermione burst out laughing. "Oh yes, under those buttoned-up Gryffindor robes lies a secret burning passion for you. Oh, Draco… take me, you Slytherin sex god."

"Oh? And what makes you think I'd want a mudblood like you?" he quipped.

She grinned archly. "Because you can't resist me."

"Maybe it's you who can't resist me."

Oh, there was more truth to that than she cared to admit.

_All right, you've had your fun messing with him, time to go,_ Hermione told herself. She'd already allowed the situation to progress far further than she'd intended, and in a moment, she was going to reach the point of no return. If she hadn't already. Yet as Draco's mouth took hers, leaving was the farthest thing from her mind. Logic and reasoning were rapidly slipping away into the haze of bliss overtaking her. _Screw logic and reasoning… I just want to feel…_ was her last coherent thought, and she was gone.

------------------------------

A/N: Yes, I fudged a little with the pen bit. I couldn't help it though… guh, it was so hard to resist.

And the plot thickens… but seeing as this is FFnet, it can't get any raunchier than this or I'll have to move to AFFnet. Hopefully this didn't offend anyone too much. :p


	9. In Too Deep

**Chapter Nine**  
_In Too Deep_

Her roommates were already asleep when Hermione sneaked back into the Slytherin girls' dorm, for which she was exceedingly grateful. She didn't feel like talking to anyone now, least of all girls she barely knew and couldn't stand. This Stayley act was far more exhausting—and complicated—than she'd ever dreamed.

She sank back onto Stayley's satin sheets, too restless to sleep but her mind too jumbled to do anything else. _Oh, God… what have I done?_ she thought, a sliver of panic running through her as she gazed up at the ceiling.

Well, Draco Malfoy, to be precise.

It had been… different from how she imagined. So much different. She supposed she'd assumed from everything she'd heard and the trashy romance novels she'd stolen from her mother than it would somehow all magically fall into place… that there wouldn't be awkwardness or weirdness or anything like that. She'd figured if she were with someone she loved, they'd figure it out.

It hadn't quite worked out that way.

It wasn't just that she'd just lost her virginity—did it really count, considering she was in Stayley's body and Stayley was most definitely not a virgin—to the last person she'd have ever dreamed she would. The things she'd heard from other girls… that it would hurt (which it hadn't, but then, Stayley wasn't a virgin, either), that half the guys didn't know what they were doing (which also didn't apply; Malfoy most certainly knew what he was doing… and oh, he did it so well), that it wasn't that great the first time around and most women didn't even have an orgasm (considering that she had—twice—did that skew the odds?) had flown out the window. In fact, for once, Hermione hadn't really been thinking about anything.

Not that there weren't moments of extreme self-consciousness. It wasn't just about her body… because frankly, Stayley had a gorgeous body, all tanned and perfect (how did she not get tan lines? Did she sunbathe in the nude, and where on earth does one sunbathe in Scotland?) and besides which, Malfoy had seen it many times before. She hadn't allowed herself to dwell too much on that thought, however, because it stirred a strange and uncomfortable sensation within her… envy? Jealousy? Anyway, the rest of it had been… guhhhh. For once words escaped her.

She remembered scattered thoughts racing through her mind… _oh wow… he really does have a nice body, a bit on the skinny side, but nice… and his… oh dear… is it going to _fit?_ He wants me to put that _where? _Eww, what's it going to taste like… and will I gag… Stayley's probably really experienced with this and I have no idea what I'm doing… oh well… he seems to be enjoying this… yes, I'll just keep doing what I'm doing…wish I'd gotten farther with Ron because any minute now he's going to know how inexperienced I am… or not… wow, guys are really easy to please. What, it's my turn now? What does he… oh… ohhhhhh… yes, this is nice. Really nice. I've decided I'll not think about exactly how he got so good at this. Frankly though, I don't care… I'm the one benefiting. You know, doing this with a man of experience is really underrated… oh my…I guess it does fit after all… this feels strange… not sure I like it… oh, I take that back, I do… really like it. Am I supposed to move my hips or something? What do I do…ahh…that feels nice…oh… thank Merlin for silencing charms…should I be offended by the fact that he just called me Hermione? Although that's technically who he's doing…must stop thinking now…_

Which, at that point, she pretty much had.

She decided not to mention the name slip afterwards, when they collapsed side by side, tangled up in his sheets. He didn't mention it, either. Maybe he forgot. She hoped. "That was… nice," she murmured, not really sure what to say to a guy afterwards.

He regarded her with raised eyebrows. "That's all you can say? Nice?"

She laughed. "Perhaps words escape me."

"I seem to have that effect on women."

"Oh, really? Just how many women have you had that effect on, hmm?"

"Tell me how many men you've had that effect on, and I will."

"I'll pass," she joked, laying her head on his shoulder. He had a kind of bony shoulder and it wasn't altogether the most comfortable position but still… she wondered if, once she was back in her own body, her head would fit there as perfectly.

Provided that, once back in her own body, she would ever be in this position again.

"You know… nothing I've read has really prepared me for this. I mean… it's just kinda different… it's not something you think about… while it's happening," she mused, reflecting on his nice it felt just to be lying here like this with his hand gently tracing patterns on the small of her back.

The movement of his hand stopped abruptly. "Stayley, you really need to stop with that impression of Granger… it's starting to wig me out."

She shifted her position so she could look him in the face. "I thought it turned you on."

"Umm… well, it does, but frankly, it's really scary how spot-on your impression of her is."

"Perhaps I should consider becoming an actress," she joked, trying really hard not to dwell on how weird this whole conversation felt.

"I'm not sure there's a lot of work in that in the wizarding world," he said dryly.

"Ahh, bummer." She knew she should be getting back to the girls' dorm soon, but she was oddly reluctant to leave. "Oh, well… at least she'll still be here to warm your bed when I'm gone."

He frowned. "Do we have to talk about this now?"

"Why not? It's not like not talking about it will make it go away." She propped herself up on her elbow, holding the sheet over her breasts with her other hand. "I'm leaving at the end of the term, Draco. It's too late for me to find a way to stay. At least my time here gave me a reason to clean up my act… maybe at wherever my father ships me off to next, I'll make it work out. And I can brag to my friends about my hot British boyfriend."

That made him smile, but the smile quickly faded. "We'll figure something out. I don't want you to leave."

"Oh, I imagine you'll be fine… you yourself said we were never really that serious to begin with. It's not me you want, anyway."

He frowned. "What are you talking about?"

She could only give an arch smile. "You know what I'm talking about." She rose from the bed, feeling vaguely self-conscious as she gathered up her clothes and got dressed. "I've got to get back, and I'm sure your roommates are getting sick of waiting. I'll see you tomorrow, OK?" She leaned over the bed to give him a quick kiss goodnight, and beat a hasty retreat before this awkward conversation could continue.

And now as she lay in Stayley's bed, conflicting thoughts swirled madly through Hermione's head and she had no idea how she really felt about anything anymore. She was sure she wasn't in love with Malfoy and it wouldn't hurt that much when Stayley eventually reversed the spell, and their relationship reverted back to the usual hurling of insults and sneers. She told herself that keeping up this relationship was all part of playing Stayley convincingly, and it really wasn't so wrong to enjoy the physical part… or was it? Deep down, she knew this wasn't the kind of girl she was. Stayley might be fine with using a guy for sex, but Hermione wasn't. She wanted something deeper and in her heart she knew that she would never have slept with Malfoy tonight if there weren't a little more to their relationship than that.

And that terrified her more than anything.

_You know he's never going to change,_ Hermione told herself. _He's never going to stop being a bigoted arse, he's never going to stop having an evil father, and for all you know he's just going to follow in his footsteps. He'll never get along with Ron and Harry… they'll probably keep hating each other for the rest of their lives._ This was insane. And yet… even though Malfoy was by and large the same jerk he always was, there were moments… little moments when he seemed almost sweet, when she truly enjoyed being with him. When she forgot who they both were and what sides they were on.

There was also the matter of wondering if he'd still want her if he knew that in the past two weeks, the girl he'd been with really wasn't a spoiled American princess but the very muggleborn witch he claimed to hate but seemed to have a strange obsession with.

To add to this mess were her increasingly complicated feelings regarding Ron. Before this whole body-switch, their relationship had been progressing nicely. It was new and fun and such a relief after all those years of bickering and denying that they were secretly crushing on each other. But when all was said and done… now she was having second thoughts. It was true that they were friends, and she and Ron knew each other better than almost anyone. And yet something was missing in spite of that… or maybe _because_ of that. There was nothing new to uncover, no layers to peel back or sides of him she hadn't seen. Each day of her relationship with Malfoy was a discovery. He intrigued her as much as he attracted her. A relationship with Ron was like slipping into an well-worn pair of jeans—comfortable, nice, predictable. Whereas a relationship with Draco was just so crazy and insane and implausible… just _different_ from anything she'd ever experienced or imagined. She wanted more of it.

And on a purely shallow note, the sex was incredible.

It was then Hermione knew that she had to bring this charade to an end. That night, she made one of the most difficult decisions she ever had. She'd allowed this act to go on for far too long as it was, and her reasons for doing so had become increasingly muddled. But it was time, she realized, to really test the strength of her relationship with Harry and Ron. Surely they would be able to tell it was really her inside of Stayley's skanky exterior, right? Harry and Ron would help her get out of this mess. Clearly, Stayley had no intention of doing so. The longer Hermione kept up this charade, the more entangled her own life and Stayley's became until she was no longer sure which was which.

And now, it wasn't just her friends and reputation at stake. It was also her heart.

-------------------------------

Harry was waiting in the Gryffindor common room that night when Ron finally showed up, looking none too pleased to be here. He plopped down on a chair opposite Harry and glared at him.

"Listen, Ron, I know you're mad at me and you have every right to be, but you've got to believe me—those rumors aren't true! I would never do that to you and neither would Hermione," Harry said anxiously, the words spilling out in a rush. "Hermione's not herself, Ron. She's been acting so strange all week. I think she might be under some kind of curse or something."

Ron scowled. "Jeez, Harry, I knew that. Something's definitely wrong with her—it doesn't take a genius to figure it out."

"Well, then why are you so angry with me?" Harry wanted to know. "If you knew she wasn't herself…."

Ron sighed. "Harry, it's not that… it's that you didn't have enough loyalty to _me_ not to go there!"

Harry was utterly nonplussed. "But it isn't really Hermione… not exactly. It's Hermione under a curse."

"But what if it wasn't?" Ron wanted to know. "What if she really did decide she had the hots for you… would you have taken her up on it?"

"No!" Harry exclaimed, aghast. "Besides which, I'd never be in the situation to do anything about it, because she would never do that to you."

"Oh, I don't know," said Ron darkly. "Sometimes these things just happen. You can't really control them. You don't mean to hurt other people… but you do."

Harry frowned. "Ron, what is this all about? Are you worried that I'm going to steal Hermione away from you?"

"Well, should I be?" Ron countered. "You two are good friends. You don't argue the way we always do. And clearly, you're attracted to her."

Harry could only stare at his friend with wide eyes. "I'm not after Hermione!" he exclaimed. "Before this mess, I never gave her a second thought… not that way, anyway. And well, you saw the way she was coming on to me! What did you expect me to do?"

"Actually, I didn't see it, thank Merlin," Ron said, looking slightly ill. "You could've turned her down."

"She's our friend," Harry argued. "I didn't want to hurt her feelings."

"What, so you hurt mine instead?"

Harry sighed. This argument was getting nowhere, slow. "Look. Can we please have this argument later? Right now, our priority should be Hermione. She might be in serious danger, particularly if she's under a curse. We need to figure out who would do this to her and why."

Still unsatisfied, Ron just scowled and said, "All right. But why? What would they want with her?"

"I don't know… she's pissed off some important people in the past, but would any of them go to this much trouble to get to her?" Harry asked. "And what's their objective, anyway? If Hermione is under the Imperius curse, so far all this person is doing is instructing her on how to be the school slut."

"So? Maybe it's revenge," Ron suggested. "Humiliation, if you will. Remember Rita Skeeter?"

Harry regarded his friend dubiously. "You think she would go to that much trouble just to humiliate Hermione? Remember, all she had to do before was run that silly story about us and Hermione became the Paris Hilton of the wizarding world."

"Who the heck is Paris Hilton?"

"This muggle heiress," Harry explained hastily. "She's really skanky. And she made a sex video."

"She did?" Ron had hung around enough muggleborns to know more or less what a video was. "Was it any good?"

"The lighting was kind of crappy, so you couldn't really see anything. And the video was grainy as hell."

"Ahh, bummer. I'd probably find better stuff raiding Fred and George's girlie magazines."

"Probably." The magazines had moving pictures, so they might as well have been videos.

"OK, so if it isn't Skeeter, then who's left?" Ron wanted to know. "I can't think of anyone else important that Hermione has pissed off that the two of us haven't pissed off equally."

"Maybe that's it," Harry mused. "Maybe they're not after her. Maybe they're using her to get to me."

Ron was silent for a moment, thinking. It seemed like the most likely explanation thus far. "And so how exactly is having Hermione skank it up around you going to benefit them? She'd find out as much about you from being your friend as being your shag buddy—well, unless they want your exact pants size."

Harry flinched a little at those words. "Maybe they're not only evil, but a pervert as well?"

Ron was equally stumped. "You'd think that whoever cursed Hermione would want to make it as subtle as possible, so we don't suspect anything. It doesn't make sense for her to call so much attention to herself."

Harry was inclined to agree. Something more must've been at work here. Either that, or someone who had access to the Imperius curse was going through a great amount of trouble to have a little fun with them.

"So what do you propose we do?" Harry asked. "How can we go about figuring out what's wrong with her?"

"Do you think we should go to a teacher?" Ron asked.

"I don't know… do you think a gut feeling is grounds enough to go to a teacher?" Harry wanted to know. "For all we know, they might just chalk to up to teenage hormones or something. Besides, I'd rather make out with a blast-ended skrewt than bring something like this to Snape."

Ron shuddered at that idea. "I don't blame you. He'd probably just laugh at us or something."

"Well, that leaves us with one choice," Harry concluded. "We're just going to have to figure this out on our own."

Ron figured out what his friend was going to say before he even got a chance to say it. "Invisibility cloak and the restricted section?"

Harry nodded. "Meet back here at 2 a.m. It's time to get to the bottom of this."


	10. Stayley Goes Down With Style

**Chapter Ten**  
_Stayley Goes Down With Style_

The trip to the restricted section went fairly smoothly, with only one close call—Peeves had been roaming about, and under the invisibility cloak, Ron and Harry stood stone-still and scarcely daring to breathe. They might've been invisible, but they weren't silent.

They managed to make it inside the restricted section without further incident, shedding the invisibility cloak as soon as the coast was clear. "Oh man, where to start," Ron murmured dispiritedly, gazing at the shelves and shelves of volumes surrounding them.

"We'll look up mind control spells," Harry suggested.

"Oh, that should really narrow it down—from say, this whole room to like a fourth of this room."

"Do you want to help Hermione or not?"

"Fine, fine."

"Shh! You hear that?" Harry interrupted, eyes wide behind his glasses.

"Hear what?"

"I heard a noise… shh! There it goes."

The two boys ducked behind a shelf as the heard an awkward _thump!_ followed by a female voice muttering a cuss word. A moment later, the same voice whispered, "Lumos!" and a pale bluish glow appeared nearby. Ron and Harry looked up to see none other than Stayley Smith, cursing and rubbing her knee.

She caught sight of them about the same time they saw her, and for a moment, the three students just stared dumbly at each other. Finally Ron said, "Stayley Smith… what are you doing here, anyway? Run out of creative places to meet your latest victim?"

"Oh, shut it, Ron, I could ask the same thing of you," Stayley said crossly. There was something terribly familiar about her tone.

"It's none of your—hey, you called me 'Ron,'" the boy in question said, interrupting himself. "What happened to 'Weasley?'"

"I felt like a change," the blonde said sarcastically.

"Do you have any idea what could happen if Filch caught you here?" Harry asked, none too pleased to see they had company.

"Hey, I've got nothing to lose," Stayley told him, shrugging. "I've already gotten the boot. What's one more infraction?"

While Harry pondered over the fact that Stayley Smith would actually use the word _infraction_, Ron scoffed, "About time Dumbledore laid down the law. You've been nothing but trouble since you got here."

"Ain't that the truth," Stayley muttered. She seemed neither proud nor sarcastic—in fact, she seemed rather depressed.

That remark caught Harry off-guard. "Wait… you're _agreeing_ with us?"

The blonde Slytherin looked at him, seeming somehow softer, more vulnerable than he'd imagined she could look. Mostly because every time he'd seen her, she'd been a snobby bitch—in other words, a female version of Malfoy. But she seemed so different tonight. Briefly Harry thought back to that odd potions class when they'd been partnered up and she'd seemed almost nice. Stayley seemed to have a split personality. The Two Faces of Stayley.

"Well, you're right, aren't you?" Stayley responded. "I—Stayley—_has_ been nothing but trouble since she's gotten here. And with her latest stunt, she's surpassed even herself."

"OK, talking about yourself in third person. I'm starting to be afraid," Ron said, regarding her suspiciously.

"I'm not Stayley." She fixed Harry with her catlike green eyes, as though hoping he'd see from her eyes that she was speaking the truth. "She made up some kind of spell and switched our bodies. Can't you two tell? Don't you recognize me?"

In spite of Stayley's voice and American accent, Harry couldn't shake the feeling that there _was_ something unsettlingly familiar about Stayley's mannerisms lately. He thought back to that potions class again. Stayley had read ahead and highlighted, just like…

"No," he murmured, gazing at the girl in front of him in disbelief. "You're _Hermione?_"

"Yes," she replied, stepping closer to him. "It's me. You really couldn't tell?"

Harry gazed warily at her, still uncertain. "How can I be sure you're _really_ Hermione in Stayley's body and not Stayley trying to mess with us?"

"You think I could make this stuff up?" Stayley/Hermione/whoever it was demanded. "If I really were Stayley, a) I wouldn't be crazy enough to think you'd believe me, and b) I wouldn't fancy you thinking I was insane—although Stayley's mental stability is debatable at this point."

"Oh yeah, that's Hermione," Ron told Harry.

Harry wasn't quite ready to trust her, however. "OK, if you really are Hermione, tell us how we got here while escaping detection from Peeves and Filch."

"Easy. The marauder's map and the invisibility cloak."

"All right," Harry replied, racking his brain for a better question. "During third year, how did you juggle so many classes?"

"The time-turner," Stayley/Hermione replied without hesitation. "You and I used to it to save Buckbeak and Sirius. And I rode Buckbeak with you—and believe me, that is _not_ an experience I care to repeat." She shuddered dramatically. "Now, are you two done with the twenty questions yet? I'm getting very cross right now. It's bad enough I'll have to attend a full day of classes tomorrow on next to no sleep. And for the love of Merlin, does Stayley own _any_ appropriate clothes for this climate? I'm not only freezing, but I look like a baby prostitute." Dressed in a pink Juicy Couture sweatsuit with a cropped top that revealed a strip of lean, tanned midriff, Stayley/Hermione looked quite uncomfortable.

"Sweet Merlin, it really is Hermione," Harry said, in awe. "How the heck did that crazy bint manage to switch you two?"

"And why?" Ron piped up. "I mean, if she's that desperate to ace her classes…."

"Merlin only knows," Hermione answered, witheringly. "The fact that she's getting expelled from Hogwarts probably has something to do with it."

"Why didn't you come to us sooner?" Harry wanted to know. "We could've helped you."

"Stayley threatened to rat us out if I told anyone. Basically, it's her word against mine, and getting caught in the middle of this could totally ruin my academic standing."

"And being stuck in the body of Slutbomb Smith wouldn't?" Ron countered.

"Well, Stayley said she was going to figure out a counter spell," Hermione told him, but her tone made it clear what she thought of Stayley's sincerity. "However, it's been two weeks and she hasn't done anything—I'm starting to think she might want us to be stuck this way permanently, but Merlin only knows why."

"That girl is nutters!" Ron exclaimed. "I feel sorry for her American school… but then, at least they got rid of her."

"So you're here trying to figure out a counter spell for yourself," Harry concluded, looking grim.

"That's right," Hermione confirmed. "God… you have no idea how hard this has been… how much I wanted to tell you two…."

"I can only imagine," Ron said. "If I were Stayley for even one day I'd probably want to kill myself."

"It's all right, Hermione," Harry assured her. "We'll help you sort this thing out."

"Thanks so much," Hermione said, deep gratitude reflected in Stayley's green eyes. "What would I do without the two of you?"

"You know we'll always be here for you, Hermione," Harry told her, wondering how she could have ever doubted them.

"Absolutely," Ron agreed. "Ugh, if I ever get my hands on Stayley…."

"Be careful; she's in my body," Hermione joked.

"I should've known," Ron said darkly. "You'd have never done the things she did! God, I feel so stupid…."

"Wait, wait." Hermione cut him off, frowning. "What exactly did she do while in my body?"

"Oh, it's not that important," Harry said hastily. "Just slagging around, being her usual self."

"Ughhhhh," Hermione groaned. "If I ever get back in my body, she is so going to get what's coming to her."

"Seriously," Ron agreed. "Poor you, having to hang out with her vapid friends…."

"Tell me about it!" Hermione exclaimed. "I think my brain will suffer permanent repercussions."

"And pretending to by Malfoy's skanky girlfriend," Ron added. A troubled look came over his eyes. "You didn't have to like… kiss him or anything, did you?"

Hermione swallowed nervously, praying her discomfort didn't show in her eyes. "I, um, had to play my part."

Ahh, but was it really acting? Was it really so repulsive playing the dutiful girlfriend to Draco Malfoy?

"So you did kiss him."

It occurred to Hermione that now that Ron knew they'd been switched, Stayley's breaking up with him no longer counted. So technically, they were still together.

_Oh God… I cheated on my boyfriend… with his worst enemy,_ Hermione thought, feeling her stomach lurch. For a moment she feared she might throw up. _How could I have done this to him? Even if I was only playing Stayley…_

Playing Stayley and enjoying every minute of it.

"Ron, is it really that important to you to know whether or not I snogged Malfoy?" Hermione asked, sounding more hostile than she felt. "We have more important things to worry about. Like me being stuck this way forever!" She grabbed the nearest book and opened it, as though to indicate that the subject was closed.

Harry, looking increasingly disturbed at the scene unfolding before him, intervened. "Hermione's right. Let's just focus on getting her back right now. We can talk about everything else later."

Ron still looked dissatisfied, but grudgingly cooperated. He understood that it was more important now to get Hermione back. Personal disputes could wait till later.

Still, he couldn't shake the feeling that there was something Hermione wasn't telling him. Something that could affect all of them more than anyone could guess.

----------------------------

The end of the term was fast approaching, and Stayley had never felt more pleased with herself. So her plan had initially run into some problems. It didn't matter anymore. Even if Granger did go to Dumbledore, who would believe her? They'd think she was Stayley, and Stayley had motive to make up something that crazy. It wouldn't be the first time she'd been caught pulling a pretty wild stunt. And as for Potter, well, in a little while he'd be putty in her hands. Poor guy wouldn't know what hit him.

Stayley had thought she'd be miserable living in Granger's body, but she was actually quite enjoying herself. Turning that insufferable plain Jane into a hottie had been a fun challenge. Perhaps over winter break, Stayley could get make an appointment with a good salon. Granger could use some serious highlights and an eyebrow wax. But otherwise, she wasn't an unfortunate-looking girl at all. All she'd needed was some makeup and a wardrobe overhaul, and she was already getting looks from guys—including some teachers—as she strolled down the hall. Finding a date to the Christmas party would be easy. However, there was only one date Stayley was interested in taking.

The guy in question was walking down the hall toward her with Ron Weasley at his side. The two boys caught sight of her about the same time she caught sight of them, and she flashed a bright smile. "Hey, you two," she greeted them, sashaying over. "What's—hey!"

Harry had grabbed one arm, and Ron the other, and they were hauling her down the corridor between them. "Umm… guys? Where are we going?" she asked with a nervous laugh. "Are we ditching history of magic today or something?"

"Don't worry, we won't be long," Ron assured her, opening the door to the prefects' lounge. To her shock, Stayley saw they weren't the only people in the room. Hermione—as Stayley, all prim and proper and buttoned-up—was waiting for them.

"OK, here's a group I never thought I'd see," Stayley joked, the first twinges of worry darkening her good mood. "Since when did you all start hanging out?"

"Actually, we've been hanging out for years… _Stayley_," Ron said, releasing her arm abruptly.

"We know," Harry added, stepping in front of her and at his friend's side.

Stayley arched an eyebrow, her acting skills about to face their greatest test yet. "Know what?" she asked. "That this isn't Stayley's natural hair color? Come on, it's obvious."

"We know that you switched with Hermione," Ron said bluntly. "Give it up, Stayley. You really think you can convince us not to believe our best friend?"

"Guys, this is crazy," Stayley declared, stubbornly keeping up the charade. "How is that possible? Do you really think Stayley is capable of creating a spell that could do that? And furthermore, why?"

"See, that's what I've been trying to figure out for two weeks," Hermione spoke up. She surveyed Stayley with her cool catlike eyes. "Why you'd want to switch us and live as the one girl in school you can probably stand the least."

"Actually, that Luna Lovegood chick is more annoying than you are," Stayley informed her. "She might not be a know-it-all, but she wigs me out. And the way she dresses? Like, ew."

"So you do admit it!" Ron exclaimed. Meanwhile, Harry found himself fighting a strange urge to laugh upon hearing Stayley's SoCal valley girl speak uttered in Hermione's voice and British accent.

Stayley sighed. The game was up. She might as move on to plan B. Except she didn't exactly have one. But if there was anything she did well, it was improvise. "What can I say? You got me." She threw up her hands in defeat. "So what do you plan to do about it? Any great ideas on how to switch us back?"

"You can do the counter spell," Harry told her. "Or else we'll tell Dumbledore."

"Go ahead and tell him," Stayley said, unruffled. "Who do you think he's going to believe? I may have a rather… um, colorful past, but you two aren't exactly sterling students yourselves. How many times have you Gryffindors bent the rules? In my time masquerading as one, I've collected a lot of dirt on you guys."

"And in my time masquerading as a Slytherin, I've collected dirt on you as well," Hermione informed her.

Stayley still seemed unfazed. "Well, unlike the lot of you, I could care less. I've got nothing to lose. Whereas the three of you, well, you've got _everything_ to lose. Go ahead and turn me in. Good luck getting anyone to believe you."

"I have your book of spells," Hermione pointed out. "I can show it to Dumbledore. It'll prove that you're capable of casting it."

"Perhaps," Stayley hedged. "Tell him, then. Blackmailing me is pointless, since I don't know the counter spell anyway. I haven't figured it out yet."

For a moment, Harry, Ron, and Hermione-as-Stayley just stared at her. "You never meant to create a counter spell, did you?" Hermione said after a moment. "You wanted us to stay like this forever!"

"Well, not _forever_," Stayley admitted. "But for a while."

"But why?" Hermione demanded. "Why would you want to spend your life pretending to be someone you're not?"

Stayley inspected Hermione's bitten-down nails. They had grown a bit since Stayley had hijacked her body, but were a far cry from the pretty French manicures Stayley was used to. "Hello, isn't it obvious?" she demanded. "My life sucks. I got shipped off to this God-forsaken rock for getting in too much trouble at Wentworth. I tried to have a little fun here, and now I'm getting the boot. Merlin only knows where my father will send me next—Durmstrang or somewhere equally hideous. I've no desire to learn the dark arts or any of that crap. I might not love it here, but it could be a lot worse."

"Well, that's your problem, isn't it?" Harry countered. "You got yourself into this mess. You need to face the consequences."

"Easy for you to say," Stayley shot back. "All three of you, look at yourselves. You might be the brave and noble Gryffindors, but everything else about your lives is so _safe_. I'm not saying Slytherins are perfect, but I never saw a bigger group of house snobs than you lot. Oooh, Slytherins are all evil, all future death eaters, blah blah. Whereas we Gryffindors break the rules but only because we're so noble and it's all for the greater good. Puh-leeze! I'd actually have _more_ respect for you if you got busted for smoking on campus or screwing in Snape's potions closet—at least I'd know you were _normal_ and not a bunch of thirty-year-olds in teenage bodies."

"Let me get this straight… you're getting on our case because we don't smoke cigarettes and screw in potions closets?" Hermione asked, incredulous.

"Exactly. To be honest, I think you'd _all_ benefit if you'd ditch your hero complexes for about five minutes and at least pretend to be normal," Stayley retorted. If she was going down, why not go down with style? "Don't deny it, Granger… you liked being me. You liked the fact that no one looked at you like Miss Uptight Know-it-all and for once you didn't have to be a big damn heroine. You're free to fuck up however you please, and no one will care. And speaking of fucking, I bet you enjoyed every moment of taking my boyfriend for a test-drive."

Hermione bristled, and Stayley could tell she hit pay dirt. "I don't blame you, of course," she continued nonchalantly. "He might not be the hottest guy alive, but he's got his uses. The guy is a natural in the sack—why do you think girls dig him? I'm sure you can vouch for his bedroom abilities, can't you, Herm?"

Harry and Ron swiveled their heads to look at Hermione, who had gone deathly pale. For once, she was at a loss for words.

"You're lying, Smith," Ron accused, his face almost as red as his hair.

"Am I?" She turned to Harry and Ron with a smirk. "And what about you two? Don't tell me you didn't like the new Hermione. I've seen you checking me out when you thought I wasn't looking. Like what you see?" She advanced upon Harry with a predatory grin. "Harry, it's abundantly clear to me how much you've enjoyed our time together. It's probably clear to the rest of the potions class as well."

Harry turned bright red, and shifted his weight uncomfortably.

"Harry, what is she talking about?" Hermione asked.

"Ummm, see..." he fumbled, stalling for time.

"No need to be ashamed, Harry," Stayley said airily. "It was just a little hand action. And don't tell me for one minute it didn't get you off that your very best friend in the whole world was doing it to you, right under Snape's nose."

Hermione's jaw dropped. "Is this true?"

Harry gulped. "Well, what did you expect me to do?" he demanded. "It was the middle of class! I was trying not to make a scene!"

Stayley burst into giggles. "Well, that was a monumental failure."

Three pairs of eyes focused on her, all glaring so fiercely that if looks could kill, she'd be dead on the spot. It didn't seem to bother her in the least, though. She was probably used to it.

"You are a sick, twisted individual," Hermione said, still recovering from finding out about the stunt Stayley had pulled. "You need serious psychological help."

Stayley shrugged, looking bored. "Maybe. But if nothing else, I at least had a spot of fun for the past two weeks. I might've even loosened that stick perpetually stuffed up your collective asses." She brushed past them and opened the door, pausing to peer over her shoulder. "Now if you'll excuse me, I've got to get to class. Love ya!" She blew them all a kiss and sashayed out of the room, leaving Ron, Harry, and Hermione staring incredulously after her.

For a long time, none of them said anything. It had to be the most awkward moment the three of them had experienced in six and a half years at Hogwarts. After what felt like hours, but was really only several agonizing moments, Ron broke the silence.

"Hermione," he said in a low, controlled voice, "Is it true?"

"Is-is what true?" she stammered, although she knew perfectly well what he was about to ask. However, she had no idea what she was going to say to him.

"Did you sleep with Malfoy?"

_Oh, God. _"Ron, you know as well as I do that Stayley is full of it," Hermione fudged, stalling for time.

"But she's not this time, is she?" he asked. "Hermione, you may be a brilliant student, but you are a terrible liar."

She could barely stand to meet his eyes, yet she could not look away. She couldn't lie to him. Even if it hurt. She'd never imagined she could feel worse than she did in this moment. "Ron… you have to understand. I had to keep playing Stayley! I couldn't suddenly start acting like myself or people would know."

"So what, you just _had_ to sleep with him?" Ron shot back. "We're talking about Malfoy here! You hate him! Do you have any idea what he would do if he'd known it was you?"

_He'd probably be turned on._ But Hermione figured this wasn't the time to tell Ron about Draco and Stayley's kinky games. "It was just a physical thing," she explained, pleadingly. _Liar._

"And that's supposed to make me feel _better_?"

"I didn't think you'd ever find out!" Well, she was really digging her own hole here.

Ron just stared at her with such disappointment in his eyes, she felt as though she'd been struck physically. He turned his gaze to Harry, who was still standing there looking supremely awkward.

"You know what?" Ron said after a moment. "We're over, Hermione. I thought Stayley had ripped my heart out and stomped on it in the Gryffindor lounge, but that's nothing compared to this. I just… I can't deal with you right now. Either of you." With that, he turned and stalked off.

Hermione and Harry just stood there, not seeming to notice the halls emptying out as students ran off to class. It was Hermione who spoke first. "Harry… oh God, you probably hate me now."

For a long while he looked at her, but his expression was more confused that reproachful. "Hermione, I don't hate you… and I'm sure Ron doesn't, either. But I'll be honest. I don't understand it. Frankly, I don't even want to try to wrap my head around how you could let that git touch you… even if you were supposed to be pretending to be his girlfriend."

Hermione bit her lip, not saying anything. She knew she deserved everything Harry and Ron had said to her.

"But as for the stunts Stayley pulled while in your body, that's not your fault," Harry went on. "It wasn't you."

"But you thought it was me," Hermione pointed out. "That's why Ron's mad… my God, it's like he's been betrayed twice!"

Harry sighed, raking a hand through his already-messy hair. "Stayley really did a number on us, huh?"

Hermione nodded miserably. "Ron's never going to forgive me, is he?"

"It's going to take some time," Harry agreed. "I don't think he'll ever take you back… and honestly, I can't say I blame him."

She just nodded again, raising her hand to chew on one of Stayley's manicured nails. "I really never meant for him to find out. I never wanted to hurt him."

"I know you didn't," Harry assured her, but his green eyes weren't as warm as they normally were. He started toward the door but hesitated, turning to look at her. "I just have to ask… Hermione, do you have feelings for Malfoy?"

Inwardly, she flinched. "I don't know," she admitted after a moment. "After living Stayley's life for two weeks, everything just got so… muddled. I was so afraid I was going to slip into her and lose all sense of myself. Maybe for a while I did."

To her surprise, Harry did appear to understand… at least a little. "We'll fix this, Hermione," he said at last, and she couldn't tell exactly what "this" meant. With that, he left the room, the door clicking shut quietly behind him.

Hermione drew a deep breath, struggling to hold back her tears. She wasn't going to fall apart now. She had a class to get through and was already going to be late. Later, when the day was over and she could find some privacy, she could fall apart. But not now.

_Ahh, screw it,_ she thought, sinking onto the couch. Stayley was getting the boot, so what was one missed class? Her life was rapidly coming apart at the seams, and there seemed to no end in sight. Feeling lower than she ever had, Hermione hid her face in her hands and wept bitterly.

----------------------------------

A/N: The "big damn heroine" quote is a reference to the movie _Serenity._

I'm so sorry to go so long between updates, guys. This was a difficult chapter to write, particularly the trio confrontation. Poor Ron. :( I felt really bad having to put him through all that, but I didn't see any other direction this saga could go. Stayley's so evil, but so very much fun to write. Don't worry… you haven't seen the last of her!

Promise I won't go that long without an update again. Look for the next update soon… I'm already working on it!


	11. Hermione Has Far Too Much Faith in Human

**Chapter Eleven**  
_Hermione Has Far Too Much Faith in Humanity_

The school was abuzz about the upcoming Christmas party the following week. The holiday break was fast approaching, and the student body grew increasingly restless. Even the atmosphere in classes seemed more relaxed, which was definitely a good thing, since Hermione was having enough trouble concentrating on school already. One of her two best friends in the world wasn't speaking to her, and the other… well, Hermione wasn't sure where she stood with Harry.

Having to continue her charade as Stayley was both a blessing and torture at the same time. She couldn't attempt to talk to Ron or Harry, but in a way, she was almost relieved, since she wasn't sure she was ready for that. And as for Draco… spending time with him had become the one bright spot in the bleakness her life had become. If anyone had told her a year ago that she'd feel more comfortable with Malfoy than with her two best friends in the world, she'd have laughed in their face. The irony was anything but funny at this point, however.

And of course, there was the guilt. Guilt that she'd hurt Ron in the worst way possible. Thrown their relationship away over something that couldn't last and perhaps was never real to start with. Did she believe for a moment that whatever she had with Malfoy would last after she and Stayley changed back? Even if she told him, it wasn't her that he was falling for. What would he do if the girl he'd been spending so much time with was not some stuck-up American pureblood, but a muggleborn witch he despised?

Even entertaining these feelings—facing the fact that she might, in fact, be falling for her worst enemy—multiplied Hermione's guilt tenfold. It had been painful to admit, but it had taken this drama with Stayley for Hermione to realize that she'd fallen out of love with Ron. Provided she'd ever really been in love with him to start with. Of course, he was one of her best friends, and always would be (if he ever spoke to her again). For so many years she'd wished for more. When it had finally happened, their relationship had been easy, comfortable, and natural. Yet she'd never felt the kind of… exhilaration with him that she felt with Draco. Being with Draco was like free-falling without a safety net. She'd always been so cautious. Throwing caution to the wind had never felt so good.

She had to get used to the idea that it was all going to end soon.

However, one thing Hermione would be happy to leave behind was spending time with Serenity and Eternity. Fortunately, the two girls were so excited about the Christmas party—they were on the planning committee, after all—that their endless chatter kept them from noticing how quiet their friend was being.

"Oh, my God, I can't believe McGonagall sprung a quiz on us so close to the holiday. Does she have no soul?" Serenity lamented at lunchtime, picking at her salad without actually eating it.

"Seriously. I mean, you'd think the teachers would want a break, too." Eternity picked up her scone and frowned at it. "Is butter a carb?"

"Yes," Serenity said at the same time Hermione said, "No."

Eternity looked very confused. "Guys, this is important. I'm on this new all-carb diet. I need to lose three pounds before the Christmas party."

"Oh, shut up, you're so skinny," Serenity admonished her. "I need to go shopping for new dress robes."

"Didn't you just do that during the last Hogsmeade visit?" Hermione had to ask, feeling like a masochist for even engaging the girl.

"Yeah, but those are like, _formal_ dress robes," Serenity clarified. "This party is only semi-formal."

"My mistake." Hermione bit into her scone, slathered generously with heavy cream.

"Ugh, I can't believe you can eat that crap and stay skinny. You suck," Eternity declared.

"What does she care? She already has a boyfriend," Serenity pointed out. "Ooh! Did you and Draco coordinate what you're going to wear yet? You can't like, show up in red dress robes if he wears a green tie."

_Somebody kill me,_ Hermione thought. But she told herself that every moment she spent in Serenity and Eternity's company was penance for what she'd put Harry and especially Ron through.

Hermione could see that Stayley was wasting no time securing herself a date for the Christmas party, even if it wasn't Harry. She seemed to be focusing her attentions on the hapless Neville Longbottom, and the poor boy seemed completely overwhelmed. After all, he'd asked Hermione—the real Hermione—to the Yule Ball two years ago and been turned down. What must he think now?

Hermione seriously wanted to kick Stayley for messing with innocent people's emotions like that. Did she have no conscience? Surely nobody could be that much of a stone-cold bitch. _Yet more proof that I have far too much faith in humanity_, Hermione thought dismally.

That afternoon, Hermione was sitting through a particularly mind-numbing History of Magic class when she was summoned by a prefect. An ominous chorus of "Oooohhh"s echoed throughout the room as she stood up. Her heart thundered in her chest as she followed the prefect to Dumbledore's office. She supposed Ron or Harry must've gone to the headmaster. It was strange that they would go without her, but considering that she was still masquerading as Stayley, maybe they didn't want to wait for a chance to meet up with her.

The _last_ person she'd expected to see when she strode into the headmaster's office was Stayley. What was even more shocking was that Stayley looked… well, not skanky. She hadn't even strategically positioned her robes to fall open and reveal her shorter-than-regulation-length skirts. Her hair was swept back in a neat bun and she had small, tasteful pearl studs in her ears. She wore very little makeup except for a bit of pale pink lip gloss. Even her shoes were conservative—the plain black one-inch heels Hermione favored.

Hermione sank down in the chair next to Stayley, growing increasingly nervous. The girl was up to something, she just knew it.

"I'm sure you both know why you're here," Dumbledore began. "Miss Smith—erm, Miss Granger, Miss Smith tells me that you had a slight mishap with a spell. Apparently, you and Miss Smith somehow switched bodies. Is this true?"

Hermione wondered if she'd heard him right. Stayley told Dumbledore _she_ was responsible? "With all due respect, Professor Dumbledore, that's not true. Well, it is true that we were switched, but the circumstances were different."

"Oh, no need to cover for me, Hermione," Stayley spoke up, voice oozing more syrup than a treacle tart. "It was my decision to work with you. How would you know our spell would go so terribly wrong?"

Stayley turned back to the headmaster, eyes wide and innocent. "I know how important scholarship is to Hermione, and figured that if she showed she was capable of creating such an advanced spell, it would look great on her academic record," Stayley explained. "I have a bit of natural talent with spells, so I offered to help her. We were going to test it out just once, you know, to make sure it worked, and I guess it did—a little too well." She gave a charming little laugh.

Hermione turned to Professor Dumbledore with wide eyes, wondering if he was really buying this drivel. The headmaster's gaze gave nothing away as he surveyed the two girls in front of him. "Is this true, Miss Granger?"

"No, it's not." A wave of anger rushed over her at the stunt Stayley was trying to pull. "I have Stayley's spell book here. I can prove the spell is hers."

Hermione pulled the book in question out of her book bag, grateful that she had decided to keep it with her at all times just in case Stayley tried to steal it back. She set the book down on Dumbledore's desk, confident that she'd finally outsmarted her adversary.

Stayley, however, seemed completely unfazed. "Of course it's in my book," she said. "I brought it with me because I thought Hermione might find it useful. We wrote the spell in my book because so much of our inspiration came from it."

It was all Hermione could do not to jump out of her chair and spill all of the deplorable things Stayley had done. But she knew it was in her best interests to remain calm. Stayley _had_ to tip her hand somehow. No way was she going to get away with this!

Meanwhile, Dumbledore had taken the book and was leafing through it, a frown across his normally kindly face. "This is very advanced magic… far more powerful than is appropriate students of your level and ability."

"I know, Professor, but you know Hermione… so determined to prove herself," Stayley remarked sweetly. "Can you really blame her? She's brilliant. It's really an admirable quality to have that much drive."

"Perhaps, Miss Smith, but too little knowledge can be a dangerous thing," Dumbledore pointed out.

Hermione watched the scene unfolding before her with horror. Was this _really_ happening? "Professor…."

Dumbledore raised his hand to silence her. "That's enough, from both of you. I can't begin to describe how disappointed I am in you girls. I really believed that both of you would know better. I will meet with my colleagues to discuss punishment and to find a way to change you back. Miss Granger, I thank you for giving me this book. It should be useful in formulating a counter spell. Miss Smith, you may return to class. Miss Granger, please remain in your seat."

Still reeling, Hermione remained seated while Stayley rose complacently from her chair. "For what it's worth, Professor, I'm terribly sorry for everything," she said contritely. "I'm willing to accept whatever punishment you deem appropriate."

Dumbledore just gave a brief nod of acknowledgement, and Stayley strode out of the office. However, Hermione caught a glimpse of her complacent expression as she left.

As soon as Stayley was gone, Hermione turned back to Dumbledore, her expression pleading and earnest. "With all due respect, Professor, I beg that you listen to my side of the story. While it is true that Stayley and I were switched, it wasn't my spell."

"I know," Dumbledore said calmly, leaving her even more confused, if that was even possible.

"You… do?" Hermione echoed dumbly.

The headmaster nodded. "I'm sorry I misled you earlier, but I needed Miss Smith to think that I believed her." He sighed wearily. "Until we get you girls changed back, I didn't want to risk her attempting something even more extreme. The girl has been a handful. It's been a long time since we've had a student who provided such drama."

"You're telling me," Hermione muttered.

"Unfortunately, Miss Smith is a very powerful witch… the spell you two are under far exceeds expectations for a student of your age and training. It's a shame she doesn't use her talent for more constructive purposes." Dumbledore looked truly regretful. "You, Miss Granger, are probably the only other student capable of such an advanced spell. However, I know that you would never use magic so irresponsibly."

Hermione let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. "Thank you so much, Professor. I was so upset thinking I had disappointed you…."

"Oh, you're not off the hook yet," Dumbledore informed her, but there was nothing malevolent or angry about his tone. "Although your actions are understandable, I wish that you had come to me sooner. I was hoping that you would."

Hermione frowned, her surprise over the headmaster's last statement outweighing her anxiety over just how much trouble she was in. "Wait… you knew about this before?"

"I noticed the change in both your and Miss Smith's behavior over the past two weeks. It didn't take long to figure out that the two of your had somehow been switched. I refrained from acting upon my suspicions with hopes that you girls would realize the gravity of tampering with such advanced magic, and that at least one of you would possess the maturity to come forward. I had thought it would be you."

Hermione nodded miserably, hating the fact that she had let Dumbledore down. "I'm sorry."

"There is no need to apologize. Perhaps I expected too much out of you… you are a brilliant student, Miss Granger, but you are, after all, seventeen," Dumbledore remarked, and Hermione briefly wondered just how much he knew about the circumstances of her and Stayley's situation. "At the moment, reversing the spell is top priority. We'll discuss punishment afterwards. I considered banning the two of you from the Christmas dance, but I think you've been through enough. Miss Smith has been asked to leave Hogwarts, and I don't envy you the task of sorting out the personal ramifications of this incident."

"The… personal ramifications?" Hermione echoed, her head still spinning. This meeting only seemed to get weirder and weirder.

"I know it seems that we teachers can't possibly understand," Dumbledore told her, "but we see more than you realize. While Miss Smith may enjoy manipulating people's emotions, but I fear you are guilty of the same thing, albeit unintentionally. I can only imagine how complicated it must have been, living someone else's life for two weeks. Maintaining one's sense of self must be extremely difficult. You might sometimes fear you're disappearing into the other person. However, I trust you will know the difference between what is real and what is only a facade."

Hermione nodded, feeling increasingly discomfited by his words. Just how much did Dumbledore know? "Is that all, Professor?"

"Not quite. I will need a personal possession of yours for the counter spell. Not Miss Smith's, but your own. I would have asked her to supply something of yours, but, for lack of a better term, I didn't trust her to come through."

Hermione didn't blame him. Stayley was probably desperate now and would do anything to stop them from changing back. "Unfortunately, I haven't anything of my own with me… oh, wait. I do," she amended quickly. "I--the real me—lent Stayley a bracelet a while back and she never returned it. She probably still has it in her room. Shall I get it for you?"

"Yes, please do," Dumbledore replied. "Also, bring me something of Miss Smith's."

"Here." Hermione pulled a pin from her hair—Stayley's straight, golden, silky hair. She still couldn't get used to it. "Will that do?"

"That should do nicely," the headmaster assured her. "You may go and fetch the bracelet now. The sooner we get started on the counter-spell, the sooner your lives will get back to normal—well, as normal as they will ever be considering where you go to school."

Hermione had to smile at that one—it was nice to see Dumbledore cracking jokes when just moments ago, she'd been terrified of the outcome of this meeting. "I'll be right back."

Hermione hastily fetched the bracelet and brought it back to Dumbledore's office. She tried to stay calm and not get her hopes up—there was no telling how long it would be before the teachers figured out a spell to change her and Stayley back. But the idea of returning to her true self left her relieved, eager, and oddly… with a sense of trepidation.

_Jeez, woman, you can't live as Stayley forever,_ she told herself. _You're miserable! All you've wanted for two weeks was to change back and for things to get back to normal! You should be celebrating!_

It wasn't that she wasn't overjoyed at the prospect of returning to her normal self. She missed her room, her friends, her cat… her life in general. But maybe Dumbledore was right about one thing. What if she was losing her sense of self? What if part of her had disappeared into Stayley? There was no way she'd want to continue living Stayley's life—hanging with Serenity and Eternity, having nothing to read but fashion and gossip magazines, wearing extremely uncomfortable shoes, being Malfoy's girlfriend. And yet…

How much of that had been Stayley, and how much had been herself? When she was with Serenity and Eternity, Hermione had constantly been putting on an act. It had initially been that way with Malfoy but more and more, she found that she was forgetting herself around him, slipping back into the person she really was.

He had to have noticed.

Suddenly Hermione was angry. How could he not tell that she wasn't Stayley? Had those two ever had _anything_ resembling a conversation? And how could he not tell that it was really Hermione? He might have hated her, but at least he _knew_ her.

_Well, he did make a lot of remarks about how uncannily "Stayley" reminded him of you,_ Hermione reflected. _And he even seemed to get off on it…_

Her thoughts grew increasingly muddled as she walked back from Dumbledore's office, on her way to the final class of the day. Soon this charade would be over. But how could she tell what was real and what wasn't? How much of her Stayley act had truly been an act?

Would it be that easy to transition back into her old life?

These questions plagued Hermione for the rest of the day. After class, she fled to the library to avoid Serenity, Eternity, and Draco and stayed for most of the evening, despite the fact that she could barely concentrate on her homework. By the time she sneaked back into the Slytherin common room, most of her housemates had gone to bed.

Except one.

He was seated in an armchair by the fireplace when she walked in. His hair shone like burnished gold in the flickering firelight, and his features seemed softer in the warm golden glow. For a moment, he looked almost handsome. "So, you show up at last," Draco remarked, closing his book and setting it aside.

"Were you waiting for me?" Hermione asked, feeling oddly flustered.

"Where were you?"

"At the library."

He arched a pale eyebrow. "You sure have been spending a lot of time there… maybe you and Granger should live there."

Rather than amusing her, his making yet another reference to her true self only made Hermione even more depressed, not to mention struck by an overwhelming sense of irony. "We'd kill each other."

"Oh, I think the two of you have more in common than you know."

"Oh, really?" She perched on the arm of his chair, regarding him with raised eyebrows. "Why would you want that? I thought you hated her."

"She's been a thorn in my side, but an enjoyable one," he answered, dryly. "Messing with Potter or Weasley is always a good time, but there's something about Granger… getting her good is that much sweeter."

"Ha! I knew you had a thing for her!" Hermione quipped, unable to resist. "So what does she do that turns you on? Slaps you in the face? Calls you a twitchy little—oof!"

She let out a shriek as he suddenly pulled her off the arm of the chair and sent her toppling into his lap. Her face burned bright red, and he smirked at her. "She knows just how to push my buttons… like you. Except in your case, it's in all the right ways."

"Oh, my God, that is so cheesy…." She never got to finish that sentence, however, because her mouth was soon otherwise engaged. _This is wrong, so wrong…_ Hermione thought, but she continued to sink into Draco's kiss, her hand sliding through his silky hair while she willingly opened her mouth to him. Those times when she slapped him and called him a ferret seemed so far away and long ago… and she had to admit, she _had_ enjoyed getting a rise out of him. But this was even better. All of the energy she'd channeled into their verbal battles was now being channeled into… something else entirely.

Something equally passionate and infinitely more satisfying.

Time and space and any form of coherent thought seemed to slide away, and the only things that seemed relevant anymore were his lips and his tongue and his hands on her body, sliding under her sweater and caressing her back over her thin linen shirt. She wasn't sure how long they sat in that chair, kissing, or exactly when they both rose to their feet and he led her back to his room. She remembered raising a protest briefly—"What about your roommates?" she'd asked.

"That's what silencing charms are for," he'd answered.

That was all the convincing it took. They slipped into his room and fell into his bed, making short work of cumbersome clothing. The first time was quick, heated, almost frenzied… oh, yes, _definitely_ more satisfying than slapping him in the face. The second time was slow, languorous, and sensual, as though they had all the time in the world. But she knew it wasn't true. Time was running out for them, and by morning, there was a good chance she'd wake up back in her own room (or it better be her own room; she was genuinely afraid of what Stayley was doing while in her body). Hermione wanted to fall asleep here wrapped in Draco's 300-thread-count sheets and in his arms. She'd never actually fallen asleep in anyone's arms before. It probably wouldn't be very comfortable, and she imagined that eventually someone's arm would fall sleep… and besides, she liked her space in her bed. But it was such a romantic notion it seemed a shame not to experience it at least once.

But tonight it wasn't going to happen. Instead, she kissed him goodnight and dressed quietly, then sneaked back to Stayley's room. But she couldn't shake the feeling that the kiss hadn't just been a goodnight kiss, but a goodbye kiss as well.

-----------------------------

A/N: The "Is butter a carb?" exchange and the all-carb diet was ganked from _Mean Girls._ Again. But it was just too good to pass up.


	12. The Aftermath

**Chapter Twelve**  
_The Aftermath_

_And don't you think  
I wish I could stay  
Your lips give you away_  
--Jack's Mannequin, "Rescued"

As soon as Hermione woke up the next morning, she knew. The spell had been successfully reversed. She was herself again.

She hadn't expected it to feel so… strange to be waking up in her own bed again. A relief, definitely. But she'd gotten so used to playing Stayley, she almost felt as though she were masquerading as herself.

Apparently, Stayley had done a bit of shopping since the switch. Instead of her usual trusty flannel pajamas, Hermione was dressed in some skimpy little pink thing with black trim and spaghetti straps—she supposed it was Stayley's idea of a night gown, but in her opinion, it was barely more than a slip. Not to mention it wasn't nearly warm enough. Shivering, Hermione made her way to her closet where she eventually hunted down her good old terry robe—banished to the back, of course. Like Stayley would ever wear that.

It wasn't the first surprise Hermione came across while getting ready. Stayley had apparently acquired several colorful bras and knickers during the past two weeks. Hermione opened her underwear drawer to find an assortment of satin, lace, stretch velvet… no trace of cotton as far as the eye could see. In fact, she was wearing one of the new knickers Stayley had purchased—pink lace boy shorts, to be precise. They kept riding up. They weren't really comfortable.

Well, at least it wasn't a thong.

Hermione opened her closet to see that Stayley had hemmed up all her skirts, making them considerably shorter than regulation length. There wasn't time to fix them now. Resigned, Hermione slipped into one of the skirts, grateful her robes would cover it for most of the day.

Her clothes were the least of the damage control she'd have to do in the wake of Hurricane Stayley.

She was almost afraid of the reaction she'd get upon entering the Great Hall for breakfast. Other than Ron, Harry, and Stayley, no one knew about the switch. Hermione felt like everyone was staring at her, even though probably nobody was. It wasn't a pleasant feeling.

She didn't dare sit down with Ron or Harry that morning, although she did catch Harry's eye while walking over to join her roommates. He peered warily at her, unsure if she was still Stayley. The fact that she wasn't wearing makeup and that for once her cleavage was hidden seemed to clue him in that the spell had been reversed. He threw her a brief, relieved smile, which she returned awkwardly before continuing on her way.

She didn't know if Ron had looked at her or not, but she hadn't dared look at him. _Coward,_ she accused herself. So much for Gryffindor courage.

Hermione pointedly avoided looking at the Slytherin table and sat with her back to it during breakfast. After she'd finished eating, she booked out of the Great Hall so quickly, one would think someone had set off one of the Weasley twins' stinkbombs. She arrived five minutes early to her first class, grateful for the distraction the morning round of classes would provide.

Morning break was another matter. She felt really lonely and self-conscious without Harry and Ron to hang out with. She couldn't decide which was worse—this, or having Serenity and Eternity trailing around after her. Both sucked, frankly.

But just when she thought she'd hit rock-bottom, fate managed to find a way to bring her just a bit lower.

Draco was sauntering down the hall toward her, head held high and silvery-blond hair glinting in the sunlight slanting in through the windows. His gaze zeroed in on her as though drawn by some unseen force, and he regarded her with cool silvery-gray eyes. Hermione felt a shiver race through her that consisted of equal parts attraction and trepidation. Yes, he definitely still had the same effect on her while in her own body. Was it possible to be so deeply repelled yet so irresistibly attracted to someone at the same time?

She felt the bile rise in her stomach and any moment, she feared she'd have to run to the girls' bathroom to throw up. She wasn't ready to face him yet. Couldn't she have just a little more time?

But it was too late now. He'd seen her. What was she supposed to do? Just look away, act as though nothing had happened?

She could do that. Take the easy way out. She wouldn't have to sort out her complicated feelings for him, wouldn't have to deal with the fact that she'd been intimately involved with her supposed worst enemy. But after everything that had happened between them, she knew deep down that she couldn't do that. It wasn't fair to him, and as brilliant of a student as she was, her talents did not extend to acting. He'd see through her in one minute.

Might as well suck it up. Haltingly, Hermione walked up to him, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. She swallowed only to realize her mouth had gone dry.

"Draco… we need to talk," she said.

He arched a pale eyebrow. "What could you possibly have to say to me, Granger?"

Inwardly, she flinched. During her time as Stayley, Hermione had become used to him addressing her amicably. It was hard to adjust to the cool contempt with which he usually treated her. "It's important. And I'd like to talk to you alone."

"Really," he said dryly. "I wouldn't think you'd have anything to say to me without Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum by your side."

Hermione wanted to turn and flee, but she told herself that the sooner she got this over with, the sooner her life could return to something resembling normal. "Look, do you want to hear what I have to say or not?"

She knew him well enough to tell that despite his feigned indifference, she'd caught his attention. "Fine," he said, shrugging. "Shall we head outside?"

She followed him out to the courtyard, marveling that how he'd somehow managed to wrest control of a situation she had initiated. He sauntered up to a bench currently occupied by a group of second-years and said, "Leave." They took off without so much as a peep.

Hermione glared at him, disgusted by the way he continually threw his weight around. This was the Draco she knew and loathed. Yet, she remembered those moments during her masquerade as Stayley… he'd been witty, funny, and even almost sweet. She was finding it increasingly difficult to reconcile that side of him with this one.

Not for the first time, she wondered if the spoiled prat act was just that—an act he put on for his peers' benefit.

She sank down on the bench, perching on the edge of the seat with her knees together and hands folded atop them. Draco seemed amused by her prim posture as he casually sank down beside her.

Hermione took a deep breath, fighting to still her racing heart. "OK… I know this is going to sound completely crazy, but I swear it's true," she began, the words coming out in a rush. "Have you noticed that I was acting a bit… different in the past couple of weeks?"

His mouth turned up in a slow, lazy smile. "I believe nearly the whole school has."

She'd been afraid of that. "Wonderful," she muttered. "And… um… have you noticed that Stayley hasn't quite been herself, either?"

He frowned. "I don't see how that's any of your business."

"Actually, it is," Hermione asserted. "Look. I know this is going to sound really farfetched, but we've both seen some pretty crazy things in our time here… you've just got to trust me on this. The girl you were with the past couple weeks wasn't Stayley. It was me."

To her surprise, he looked about ready to burst out laughing. "You? What were you doing, drinking polyjuice potion every day?"

"No," Hermione denied, vowing not to let on how nervous she really was. "Stayley switched us. For the past two weeks, I was in Stayley's body and she was in mine."

He simply stared at her, as though unsure whether to believe her or not. "So you mean to tell me that for the past two weeks, the girl I've been with was you… in Stayley's body?"

"Yes, exactly." Hermione fought an urge to shy away from his gaze, knowing just what he was thinking about. So was she.

"You're seriously expecting me to believe this?" Draco regarded her with his usual arrogance. "You lot have come up with some pretty crazy stories, but this…."

"Why on earth would I lie about something like this?" Hermione demanded, incensed and more than a little hurt. "Do you think I'm _proud_ of having to impersonate your skanky girlfriend? I could tell you everything we talked about and everything we did. Would that be proof enough for you?"

"Oh, I'm well aware of what we did, thank you," he replied with a smirk. "Really, Granger… I didn't know you had it in you."

To her horror, she felt the warming tingle of a blush in her cheeks. "So you believe me, then."

"Well… it is uncanny how well Stayley was able to impersonate you," Draco hedged. "I hadn't figured her to be so studious and straightlaced. I thought maybe she'd been trying to clean up her act before Dumbledore gave her the boot."

Hermione gave a dismissive sniff. "Please, I bet the library makes Stayley break out in hives."

"Probably… I should've known it was you when we made out in the stacks," he told her smugly. "Being surrounded by musty old books probably makes you hot."

Hermione felt herself start to blush again, and a surge of disgust welled up within her—whether it was at herself or at him, she wasn't sure. Maybe both.

"Well, what about Stayley skanking it up as me?" she demanded, taking the offensive. "Do you really think I would dress and act like that?"

"It was a bit odd," he acknowledged. "I figured that something might've finally pried loose that stick permanently wedged up your--"

"If you finish that sentence, so help me, Malfoy, I will hex you into next weekend."

"Oh, I love it when you talk dirty to me," he said with a wicked grin.

Hermione's mouth dropped open. "If you _dare_ use our—our time together against me…."

"Time together?" He smirked. "You make it sound so romantic, like one of those silly novels you've always got your nose buried in. We shagged, Granger. That's all it was. Granted, it was a damned good shag. I hadn't imagined doing a mudblood would be so…."

_Smack!_ Before he could finish the sentence, Hermione's hand contacted his cheek in a harsh slap. "You are a disgusting pig!" she fumed. "I can't believe that there was ever a moment when I thought you might be a decent human being."

"Maybe not, but you enjoyed every sordid moment of it." He leaned closer to her, his voice low and richly seductive. She resisted the urge to scoot away. "I still have the marks where you scratched your nails down my back… you know, when you were under me and screaming my name..."

His face was so close to her she could smell his distinct scent—something clean, minty, and _dear God_ sexy—and almost feel his breath caressing her cheek. I would be so easy to melt into him and let his lips and tongue and hands erase any misgivings she might've been having. "I suppose I did," she murmured, "but then, so did you. And it wasn't Stayley's name you called out… it was mine."

He drew back abruptly, gazing at her in horror. "You're lying."

"Am I?" she arched an eyebrow. "I remember the moment very clearly… I believe it was after I offered, as Stayley, to masquerade as myself."

He pale cheeks turned scarlet as he glared at her. "It was a momentary thing."

"It's been a momentary thing for a while, then," Hermione drawled. "Face it, Malfoy. You want me. You've been wanting me every since Stayley skanked it up as me in potions. And you can't stand it, can you? You can't stand the fact that the one thing you can't touch is the one thing you want most."

For once he seemed at a loss for words, regarding her with utter shock and fury. "OK… so maybe I do want you," he spat out. "But it would never be more than a one-time thing. Just to have the experience of making it with a mudblood."

Hermione knew she should've been hurt by his insult, but instead, it only spurred her on. "Oh, please," she scoffed. "I was right when I said that I know who you are… you're a coward. You won't risk changing anything about this persona you've so carefully built, because if you stopped being a self-serving asshole for one second, no one would be afraid of you anymore. You didn't have the balls to tell your father you were dating a pureblood witch with a bad rep… so imagine telling him you've hooked up with a Muggleborn." A triumphant smile spread across her face as she stood up. "Well, I hope you enjoyed your one time slumming, because rest assured, you're never going to get this again." With that, she turned and started to flounce back to the school.

"Not so fast." Draco was off the bench in a flash, and grabbed her arm to stop her. She whirled around, brown eyes shooting sparks at him. But before she could react he crushed her against him and his lips crashed down on hers with such force she felt the aftershocks all the way to her bones. Her hands spayed against his chest but rather than pushing him away, she melted into him, surrendering to the kiss without so much as a murmur of protest. Merlin, it was pathetic they way he affected her… but it was easy, so easy, to get swept up in the power of the sensations coursing through her. Her hands were in his hair while his were pressed against her back, pulling her closer, so close she could practically feel the heat of his body radiating through his shirt. They couldn't seem to get close enough. His mouth slanted across hers and she opened for him willingly, welcoming the sweep of his tongue into her mouth and responding with equal ardor. Hermione might have no longer been in Stayley's body, but the rush of sensation that took ever whenever Draco kissed her was in full effect. She couldn't hold back the vivid memories of how it had been to be even closer to him… his hands on her body and her skin against his and his soft lips and warm breath and oh… she wanted to feel it again. So help her, she wanted to feel that way again.

"Now," Draco said, rather breathlessly, when they finally pulled apart, "are you really sure about that?"

She glared up at him, trying not to let him see that she was rather breathless herself. "I hate you."

"Darling, you flatter me," he said, flashing that unnerving and—_no, not sexy!_ Hermione told herself firmly—smirk of his. "I have to say, kissing the real Hermione is even more satisfying than when you were pretending to be Stayley. I can only imagine how it will feel the first time we--"

"No," she interrupted, sharply, before he could finish that sentence. "If you think there is _any_ way I'm _ever_ going to…."

"And why not?" he countered. "I want you; I admit it. You want me. So why not do something about it?"

"Don't you get it?" she demanded, brown eyes sparking angrily. "I'm not Stayley. I won't be your 'friend with benefits' or whatever she was to you. If you want me, you're going to have to take all of me… including my friends, my family, and my heritage. I won't be your dirty little secret."

"Oh, but where's the fun in that?" he quipped.

"I'm serious!" Hermione exclaimed. "If you want me, Malfoy, that's the only way you can have me. It's your choice."

With that, she turned and walked away. Her legs were shaking and her palms were sweating, but she'd be damned if she let him see that. She refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much he shook her up. Or how hard it was to stick to her guns and not give in to him. It was tempting, so very, very tempting…

Although she knew she had done the right thing, she couldn't shake the odd feeling of loss as she walked away. Nothing was ever going to be the same between them again, that was for sure.

--------------------------------

A/N: I can't believe I haven't inserted angsty lyrics in this fic yet. What kind of a Suethor am I? So I put some in this chapter. Better late than never, right?

Kind of a short chapter, I know, but the next part is a bit involved and it seemed best to break it up here. So sit tight, readers… there's going to be some drama coming up.


End file.
